Loyalty
by Erimenthetic
Summary: Love then, is nothing more than the always choosing, the always striving, the always affirming yes. A slow burn through the events of Mass Effect 2. Eventual Shoker. Eventual AU.
1. Grounded

The pulsing bass of Dark Star isn't enough to burn Joker's thoughts away, and neither is the fifth shot of alien liquor.

Grounded.

It'd taken the court martial less than an hour to remove his wings. Fucking kangaroo court.

So what if he'd stolen the Normandy twice? He'd paid for his sins the first time, and saved the galaxy the second. Gotten a fucking medal for it too. But now he was 'unstable'? A fucking 'liability'? While reg breaking Alenko made Commander?

Well fuck that, and fuck Alenko for going quiet about the Reaper threat. Joker slams another shot, adding the empty glass to his growing graveyard.

After Alchera, Joker had been careful to stay away from alcohol. Because when you'd just killed your CO, one beer was hard to differentiate from twelve, and that shit would get you grounded. Properly drunk now, Joker can appreciate the irony.

The world tilts precariously. Shit. This is why he doesn't drink. He gestures to the bartender for another. Maybe the Turian pouring drinks will just let him sleep here.

If they'd wanted to ground him for killing Shepard, Joker would have understood, hell, he wouldn't have even fought it. But that's not the reason his wings are gone. For fuck's sake, they let him fly for almost two months before it became obvious he wasn't planning to forget the word 'Reaper' as instructed. Only then had the charges been brought.

Of course, they'd had to find a way that didn't incriminate the rest of Shepard's surviving crew. No one liked a government who shamed their war heroes.

There's a thought that deserves a drink. Joker's pretty sure the secrets of the universe are at the bottom of this bottle. Won't be sure until he gets there, of course, so he chugs the beer. Nope. Maybe the next one. Definitely one of the next three, though the bartender is giving him that look like he's one hiccup away from being cut off for the night. Shit.

Fucking stuff doesn't even have a damn label to peel while he waits for the Turian to bring another.

The stool beside him gains an occupant, bar stool squealing a little as it turns to face him.

"Hello," his new neighbor says, voice just the right amount of throaty. He thinks about flirting with the perfect legs (can't be bothered to look any further up), but one night stands aren't really his thing. 'Do be careful not to shatter my pelvis' is a pick-up line with a standard return somewhere between nervous laughter and open-mouthed horror.

"Not my type," he says instead. No, his type is more along the lines of knows condition, knows to be careful, won't leave after snapping my tibia.

The woman snorts, and alright, to be fair, she's probably everyone's type. Joker raises his gaze to take her in. Nice curves, pretty face, tiniest little gap between her front teeth so that all you can think about is her hot, wet mouth.

"The name's Miranda Lawson, Mr. Moreau."

Shit. If she knows his name, that means she's Alliance, and if she's Alliance, that means he's about to be dishonorably discharged. He pulls the brim of his cap lower. It's not a huge surprise, though he'd hoped- What had he hoped? That someone would figure out the Reapers were real? That they'd put him at the helm of a new ship and let him figure out how to do right by Shepard? He's not usually one for blind optimism.

"Fuck off and court martial me in the morning." Joker swings his stool to the other side, and motions to the Turian for another round.

"I'm not Alliance, Mr. Moreau," the woman says, and if she were talking to a wad of gum on the bottom of her patent leather heel, the tone would probably be the same. "I've come to offer you a job."

A job, sure. Anyone come calling after Alchera is a damned idiot, and no one he's interested in hiring on with. "Ah, my mistake. In that case, just fuck off."

The bartender sure is taking his sweet time with the alcohol. Joker's uninvited guest doesn't leave. "Fuck you, lady, can't you see-"

"My sources lead me to believe that you were interested in stopping the Reaper threat. Was I misinformed?"

And he's definitely had too much to drink for this conversation. Or possibly not enough. "Who the hell are you, and what the fuck do you know about me?"

Four perfectly manicured nails drum against the bar. "Miranda Lawson, Cerberus. I oversee the Lazarus Project." Cerberus, it sounds familiar, but Joker can't place it, though his brain's fuzzy enough he's not surprised. "You are Jeff Moreau, Alliance. Best helmsman since the invention of FTL technology. Grounded because you won't shut your mouth."

He sighs. "So you have extranet access. Should I be impressed?" He is, though, despite himself. Chick must be a journalist. He'd give her an interview if it didn't come with a side helping of treason (the Alliance had been really fucking clear about that). Knowing his luck she works for the Universal Enquirer or some shit. The thought of "Reaper Force Threatens Galaxy" running beside "Star of 'Blasto' Admitted for Rehab" is one part hilarious and two parts nauseating.

Lawson ignores his comment and hands over a datapad, flicking through the screens faster than his blurry vision can keep up. "The Alliance will have you flying again in sixth months, so long as you meet behavioral requirements. These are the orders you're set to receive when you get your wings back."

"You hacked the Alliance?" Joker asks, though he can't bring himself to feel the outrage he probably ought. He scans the document. They're planning to lift his suspension, he'll get to fly again. He can wait six months-

It takes a couple tries, but eventually the words before him process. Shuttle duty. On the Citadel cargo route. Automated flights, pilots on board only in case of emergency. Maybe he'll see if the Turian will pour him a couple shots of Ryncol.

Lawson watches as his face falls, then changes screens. "These are your most recent medical charts, and this," another swipe, "is the medical plan our physicians have come up with. We'll replace or adjust your IM rods as necessary, then start you on a regimen of biophosphonates. You'll have access to Project Lazarus' top of the line physical therapists. In addition, we'd like to break, reset, and repair the fracture on your left femur with a cloned bone graft."

The woman rattles this off like a grocery list, but to Joker it's a world of possibility he's never let himself consider. The rods in his bones haven't been touched since they went in at age fifteen, and they've not grown with his bones, so now every step is a sort of burning torture. They're his third set, though, and by the time the doctors stitched him up after the procedure, he'd burned through his parents' retirement fund twice over. And everyone knows IM rods are an 'elective procedure' under Alliance insurance, even if they're the only things that allow him to walk.

Lawson's speaking again, "The frigate currently in construction for your use surpasses the Normandy on all technical fronts." She rattles off a list of specs, and the drive core alone is enough to make his head spin.

To fly again, to walk unaided, it's unthinkable. It's a dream. It's-

"Cerberus," Joker spits. He remembers now. Remembers Kahoku, remembers the Rachni, remembers Toombs.

Lawson turns half a smile his way, completely confident he won't be able to resist the offer in front of him. "Cerberus indeed, Mr. Moreau. Do we have our helmsman?"

"Let me get this straight," Joker says. "You look at me and see a broken man with authority issues. And you think that because I'm verbal about my disagreement with the brass I'll sign on with the first terrorist group with a fucking ship. You think that my disease makes me morally bankrupt, and that I'll sell my soul for some metal rods."

Rage burns through him, white-hot, until he's shaking. Joker presses both palms flat against the bar, struggling not to clench them into fists.

"Let me tell you something, Cerberus. Those marines you experimented on? They were my brothers. The soldiers slaughtered on Akuze? They were my sisters. I would rather die than betray them. I may just fly the damn ship, but it's an Alliance ship."

The Cerberus operative pinches her mouth into an unpleasant moue before responding. "Very noble, I'm sure." She pulls up another screen on the pad held in Joker's white-knuckled grip. "This," she says, "is project Lazarus. Our plan to destroy the Reaper threat."

More than half the document has been redacted, but what remains tells one clear story. Cerberus believes Shepard. Cerberus is taking the fight to the Reapers.

Cerberus.

Joker went to one counseling session after Akuze. He hadn't slept for four days, and he thought he was ready to hear 'survivor's guilt' and 'PTSD' like such common terms could describe the hell inside his head. He hadn't gotten the peace he was after, but he did remember the look in the woman's eyes when she'd told him, "When you kill someone, Mr. Moreau, it becomes incumbent upon you to live for two instead of one."

He's fucking fine watching the Universe burn if no one will heed the warnings. Hell, right now he might light a match. But Shepard wouldn't.

The silence stretches. Maybe if he's quiet long enough, the woman will leave and take the choice with her.

Would Shepard sign on with demons if it meant saving the universe?

"I'm listening," Joker says at last.

Lawson smirks. "Excellent. I never settle for anything less than the best." One more swipe at the screen reveals an address, date, and time. "There's quite a bit more to tell, Mr. Moreau. I hope to see you there."


	2. The Lazarus Project

Joker would tape his own eyes open and watch the Blasto sequels on repeat for six days before he'd admit it, but he likes Kelly.

Don't get him wrong, the yeoman is obviously snitching on all of them to the Illusive Man. She's a horrible spy, and honestly, yeoman? There haven't been yeomen in space since the invention of a functioning VI. But she spies on everyone, even Miranda, and the pinched expression Lawson gets whenever Kelly's nearby makes it all worthwhile.

And maybe he likes that Kelly doesn't exempt him from her universal flirting. Even before his Cerberus sponsored surgeries, she'd always made it quite clear that she'd take him to bed. He's not interested, or even flattered (it's not exactly an exclusive group), but he appreciates the offer.

She's sitting beside him now in the co-co-pilot chair of Cerberus' gigantic MSV Lhoste, fingers flying furiously, probably sending another report to her boss.

"Would you say Miranda was tetchy after returning from Fehl Prime?" Kelly asks, fingers paused. "Or maybe agitated?"

Joker suppresses a grin. He'd say Miranda was bitchy. Is bitchy. All the fucking time. Hell, she'd chewed Jacob out like he'd been the one to wipe the Alliance research station's hard drives. Bad luck that the one Collector attack to leave survivors for clean up was also the one they most needed information from.

Joker slides the ship into the docking bay, perfectly, despite the fact that the Cerberus cruiser is more brick than boat. The Lhoste is no Normandy, but Joker has her dancing just the same. Not that any of these Neanderthals know enough to appreciate his superb flying. He could save their asses from an erupting volcano and they'd complain he'd let in too much ash.

"Mr. Moreau." Miranda's voice could curdle milk. If Joker's nearly come to enjoy working for Cerberus (if they've yet to have success against the Reapers, at least it's not for lack of trying), Miranda is his personal reminder not to get too comfortable.

He quirks an eyebrow in her direction because he knows it irritates her not to get a verbal response.

"You will be disembarking at Lazarus station today. There's something you need to see."

Joker's gut clenches. In the eleven months he's flown for the Lazarus Cell, he's never set foot on the station which bears the same name. He drops and picks up Miranda and Jacob, and then returns to Bethany station where he's housed. As far as he knows, no one else on the team has ever been inside Lazarus.

And, well, it's not like Miranda left him a choice in the matter.

Is this the part where they begin experiments on his crippled ass? This is why you don't sign on with a terrorist organization, Jeff. Shit. They sure did a fine job fixing his rods if they were just planning to kill him. They wouldn't waste an investment like that, right?

Right, because a cash flush terrorist organization is definitely going to sweat the pocket change they spent fixing him.

Joker's nearly nauseous with nerves as he stands and follows Miranda to the airlock. The door cycles open to reveal a shuttle bay nearly identical to the one on Bethany station. No smears of blood and gore, and that's a good, clean sign. Or the sign of a good cleaning staff.

Miranda makes two lefts, then a right through a door which requires a retinal scan to unlock. There's someone in the hallway in front of him. Torturer? Scientist? Is there a difference?

The woman turns, and her pale gray hair parts to reveal a face he knows well.

"Doc?" Chakwas is supposed to be back at Bethany, helping to design a state of the art mobile medical center. As Joker nears, it's clear she's been crying, her eyes puffy and red. "Karin?"

"Oh, Jeff." She grabs his hand, and her fingers tremble as they squeeze his own.

Doc didn't cry after Jenkins, nor after Virmire. She's stitched up wounds and healed soldiers for longer than Joker's been alive, and whatever's through that door has made a wreck of the unflappable Chakwas.

"What's the matter? What have they done?"

Chakwas just shakes her head, eyes filling with fresh tears. "Go. Go see."

He spins and pushes past Miranda into the next room. The familiar smell of disinfectant and hospital hits his nose, and he feels queasy all over again with thirty years of remembered pain. The lights glare off pale floors and walls. There must be ten beds in the room, but only one is occupied.

Dread dogs his steps, and it takes Joker twice as long to cross the room as it should. The sheets are folded into tight corners at the foot of the bed. The heart rate monitor beeps its soft rhythm. It takes more willpower than he'd like to admit, but finally Joker forces himself to look.

The figure on the bed is Shepard.

The rooms spins, and Joker has just enough presence of mind to find a chair before his legs absent themselves.

Shepard.

What the fuck has Cerberus done? Hallucinogens? Maybe he's suffered from some sort of psychological break. The chest of the body before him rises with breath, and Joker wants to die. There is no finer torture than this.

The not-Shepard has scars across her cheeks, glowing orange with cybernetics. Her hair is limp and lifeless. The real Shepard is dead, he watched her get spaced. He's the reason she got spaced.

"What have you done?" Anger makes his voice shake. Is nothing sacred here?

"I thought you'd be pleased, Mr. Moreau."

"Pleased? You think I'll be pleased over a clone?"

"Not a clone, Mr. Moreau," Miranda says. "This is Shepard, back from the dead."

"Shepard's body burnt up entering the atmosphere of Alchera." That's why they'd buried an empty casket. There weren't even dog tags to put in the ground.

"We acquired the Commander shortly after your run in with the Collectors. Her suit did a remarkable job protecting her body, all things considered. Most of what you see here is augmented by extensive skin, muscle, and bone weaves, but the damage was repairable."

The Lazarus Project. He gets it now. Hilarious. They've made a fucking zombie, because heaven forbid she be allowed to rest in peace.

"She couldn't have had more than three hour's worth of oxygen. Even if you somehow got her breathing again, she's brain dead. Why-" He has to swallow back a knot of emotion before he's able to finish his question. "Why would you do this to her?"

"You will find I am not defeated by the constraints of modern medicine, Mr. Moreau."

She's a fucking mad woman. No. This is unacceptable. Shepard gave her life to save him, and he won't sit idly by while these monsters use her body as a plaything. Two years of limbo is enough.

Joker stumbles to his feet and grabs at the IV line. He tears away the sensors which mottle Shepard's body. If this is the only thing he can do for her, Joker will make sure she dies.

Miranda's pistol clicks softly as it unfolds, the barrel resting against his forehead. "Step away from the Commander, Mr. Moreau, or I will put a bullet through your skull."

Is it a good use of the life Shepard sacrificed for him to save her body from desecration? Uncertainty makes him stagger backwards.

"Let her go."

"I assure you, Mr. Moreau, that Commander Shepard is very much alive, with brain function. We waited until she had woken to inform both yourself and Doctor Chakwas."

Miranda begins the process of replacing the sensors. Joker can't see through the tears in his eyes. "She woke up?"

"Yes, Mr. Moreau, yesterday. We expect to have her ready to direct the attack against the Collectors by the end of the month."

She woke up. Shepard woke up. Shepard is alive.

Joker grabs one of Shepard's hands, the skin soft and uncalloused, but warm.

He sits and sobs.


	3. Home Again

"What do you think, Commander? Pretty nice digs, right?" Chambers has just left them alone in Shepard's quarters after completing the grand tour, and Joker's commandeered the swivel chair at her desk to spin in. Every rotation shows him the same shell-shocked expression on the Commander's face as the pass before.

It takes her a minute to respond. "I'm supposed to think the aquarium is a waste of resources, right? It's kinda nice though, I've never had a pet." She presses her palm flat against the glass, peering into the empty water. "Unless you count street rats?"

"This isn't a children's vid, Shepard. No one counts the _rats_."

She laughs. The sound bubbles in his blood, and Joker wonders if it will always feel like this. Like every quirk of her lips or ringing footfall, like every proof of life is a gift meant just for him. Tiny mercies he has no chance of deserving.

Joker stops the spin of his chair just long enough to return her smile. There's not much in the way of safe conversational subjects, but he figures Cerberus hate has to be on the list. "You know your room's bugged, right?"

Her nose scrunches in displeasure as she nods. "And Chambers and Lawson are both reporting my every move."

Never misses a trick, his CO.

The drawers slide open and bang shut as she inspects each one, whether she's sweeping for bugs or just inspecting the contents, Joker can't tell.

"Is it weird that they had clothes tailored for me? I mean, sure, I was naked on Lawson's operating table for the last two years, but clothing measurements could have waited until I was awake."

"Would have made the two firefights you've gotten into in the last 24 hours a sight more interesting," Joker says. "And bravo, by the way. Outpacing your own record for inciting violence and with flair."

"One of those started before I was even awake, I hardly think I can be held responsible." He hums noncommittally. "You know Tali wasn't surprised to see me alive?"

And so the safe subjects are dismissed. Well Joker's not going to tell her that he sent messages to the whole crew of the SR-1 three weeks ago when he found out she was alive. Because telling her that would mean telling her that no one had come. Telling her that would be admitting that without her to guide them, everyone had given up the Reaper fight. That it's only him and Chakwas and a whole lot of empty space where there used to be family.

"Weird," he settles on saying. It's possible, after all, that everyone has been refusing his messages. If one of them had killed Shepard, he probably wouldn't be a very good pen-pal either.

Tension stretches between them until it's obvious he's failing some sort of friend-test. And this is why he keeps to the bridge. What is he supposed to say? Little known fact, his communication incompetence is not an act.

Shepard is the one to break the growing tension. "You're going to have to translate the engine specs you were drooling over into layman."

"I figured." He smears condescension into his voice. In distraction and avoidance, he's an ace.

Shepard turns from her inspection of the closet, mock outrage in her eyes.

"Hell, Shepard, any improvements Cerberus made stopped short of removing the glaze your eyes get the moment you hear 'Tantalus core.'"

"Someone should buy you an etiquette book," Shepard says.

"Not sure the market's there for _What to Say and Do When Your Commander Comes Back from the Dead,_" he answers.

Shepard kicks the chair's height lever in retaliation, sending him plummeting six inches. "If I'm going to have to listen to engine jargon, I'm not really sure why I keep you around."

"No one is sure why you keep me around." The damn chair won't go back up, no matter how hard he pulls. "Maybe someone should write a poem to remind us. Let's see, what rhymes with Therum?"

"Shut up," Shepard says, but she's grinning.

He stretches, trying to pull some of the stiffness from his back. Even with Cerberus' work, walking tours are still bad fucking ideas. Seeing his baby was worth it though.

There's a frown on Shepard's face. "How's your arm?" she asks.

It takes Joker a second to place the question's context, and in that time Shepard seems to realize her mistake in chronology.

She drags her fingers through her hair. "Right, so that was dumb."

"It wasn't broken," he offers.

"Good," she says. "Good." Her death stands between them, impenetrable. "Are we, are we not supposed to talk about my being dead?" At Joker's blank stare, Shepard rushes on. "Because I get that, I can totally not talk about it. It's just-"

"A fucking big thing to not talk about."

She huffs out a hard breath that might be an aborted laugh. "Yeah."

"I think since you're the one who died, you're the one who gets to decide how much it's talked about. My arm was fine, sprained for a couple of weeks, nothing bad."

The topic is uncomfortable. _He killed her_ and they're here talking about his arm? But the tension is bleeding from her shoulders just the same.

"Sorry for the manhandling."

"I'm pretty sure when you save someone's life you don't have to apologize."

"Still," she says. "Come here." Shepard offers him a hand up, which he takes. When Joker's standing, Shepard wraps him in an embrace so tight it nearly hurts. He lets his own tentative fingers rest against her back.

They stand that way for some time. Eventually she whispers, "I'm so glad you're here."

He's pretty fucking sure that's his line, but she can have it, if she wants. "There's nowhere else I would be."

* * *

Their first stop is to the Citadel and Anderson, which surprises no one but Miranda. The XO's left gaping when they bypass Omega and the Illusive Man's directives. Her displeasure is felt if not heard.

The SR-1, born as it was of joint human and Turian interests, had received a prime docking location. The reserved bay between the Destiny Ascension and the Indomitable benefited from easy access to C-Sec and a dry/wet dock which allowed for repairs and inspection without towing.

The Normandy SR-2 is granted no such luxuries. Traffic control directs Joker to the ass end of the Zakera ward docks, and there's barely enough room to squeeze the Normandy between the ships on either side, one a decaying merchant vessel and the other a cluster of scrap metal held together with mass effect fields and a prayer. Still, it's nothing Joker can't handle, and the ship settles home perfectly.

The docking clamps, however, have seen one too many hulls, and they drag and scratch along the freshly painted surface, marring the Normandy's perfect body. Joker shudders. Maybe if he asks nicely, Shepard will pick up some touchup paint on her way back from meeting with Anderson.

The Commander's hand on his shoulder makes Joker jump.

"All good?"

His skin burns where her fingers sit. "Commander, can I get a mirror up here? You know, so I can see when someone's standing behind me?"

Shepard brushes microscopic lint from the lapel of her uniform, but while she's sporting the same black and white as the rest of the crew, the Cerberus logo is suspiciously absent. Joker would think they'd forgotten to add it if not for the line of fine stitches making a single x across her breast. "I'll look into it, Lieutenant."

The airlock hisses closed, and Joker brings up Shepard's feed. She's gone alone, no surprise as her only viable backup is a couple of Cerberus flunkies.

The video shows a city of transients living just outside the ship, a mess of alien life too unsavory or too ill to make it past C-Sec and into the wards proper. A wave of voices filter through Shepard's audio pickup, catcalls and pleas for help battering from all sides.

Then the scanner thinks Shepard's dead.

"I was listed as missing in action a few years ago," Shepard says. It's a lie. She was listed as killed in action. Because she was dead. Her empty coffin laid in state for three days while dignitaries came to play politics and grapple for power. The whole damned thing had been broadcast over the extranet. There's no way the Turian manning the scanner doesn't remember, but he lets her through anyway.

Then the human working the desk, Bailey, brings Shepard back to life with the press of a button. Seems there's no form of death which can keep her waylaid for long.

That's all Joker's able to watch, as the Presidium is one huge Faraday cage, and the comms cut out as the rapid transit car crosses the threshold.

Shepard's video returns an hour later, though she doesn't hail the ship. So it went well then. Joker lets out a disappointed sigh. He's not sure why he bothered to hold his breath. When the brass closes their eyes to something, they keep them closed.

She still hasn't said a word when the airlock finishes its decontamination process and Joker switches off the feeds.

Her presence is heavy behind him, and because he doesn't know what to say, he doesn't say anything.

"Two years." He knows, he remembers each day. "Two years and they've done nothing. Anderson wouldn't even tell me where Kaidan is."

"I'm sorry." Those idle words won't change anything, but they're enough to draw a weary smile from Shepard. She falls into the seat beside him.

"Set course for Omega."

The next time Joker sees her, Shepard's wearing a uniform with the Cerberus logo still attached.

* * *

A/N: This chapter was originally missing a scene break, sorry for any confusion. Thank you to everyone who has commented, favorited, or followed this story.


	4. Starting Over

Omega is a shit hole among shit holes, a last shelter for wild animals to curl up in and die. Also, it looks like the sort of place to give you lice or ticks or scale itch (and why can humans get scale itch?), which makes Joker exceptionally glad he's watching from the safety of the _Normandy_'s cockpit. Bridge. Whatever.

Afterlife has embraced the station's rotting atmosphere with open... arms. The music is loud enough to be deafening, even in the VIP section where the club owner sits, and the fuscia lighting may just be the only color Asari don't look good in. Whoever designed this place should be charged with crimes against humanity.

"Well, aren't you sweet." The Batarian's voice drifts over the comms. "You're in the wrong place, Honey. Stripper's quarters are that way."

Joker knows a moment of terror for the unnamed Batarian, even as he switches out Shepard's feed for Miranda's. Sure he feels a little bad for the guy, but that doesn't mean he's going to miss out on a show.

Shepard has three different guns visible on her armor, but to Joker's great disappointment, she doesn't pull any of them. Instead she just stares at the Batarian, one finger brushing the Predator at her hip.

"Come on, how about a little brandishing for the folks at home?" Joker says. Can he help that he likes his CO with guns blazing?

The corner of Shepard's mouth curls, something between a smirk and a sneer, and it intimidates the Batarian into moving the meeting along.

A few minutes later, Shepard breaks some kid's gun with her bare hands. Joker should probably find that more disturbing than he does, but it's almost a little hot. It doesn't even look hard.

After the mechs have been sabotaged, and the ground team stands waiting to cross the bottlenecked bridge, Joker closes Miranda and Jacob's comms. "Wrote you a poem, Commander."

"What?" Her vid feed upends as she rolls into cover. The merc in front of her doesn't have a chance.

"You know, like we talked about.

There once was a man from Arcturus-"

The cackle of her laughter rewards the first line, and Joker waits until the pop of gunfire quiets to continue.

" Who learned how to pilot a space bus.

He took down a Reaper,

In a volcano flew deeper,

That he's handsome is only a plus."

"Jeff, I can't aim while I'm laughing." The three freelancers that fall before her belie the statement.

The Turian has barricaded himself on the upper balcony, making the bridge into a kill shoot. Joker's seen Shepard come through worse unscathed, but she makes the run so problem-free that it almost seems as though Archangel isn't even trying.

Jacob takes a concussive round to the shoulder, but while his shields drop, the Turian doesn't send another round his way until they've regenerated.

The sound of metal feet on stairs, and then, "Archangel?"

The Turian snipes the last of the wave of mercs, then turns and pops the seal of his helmet.

It's Garrus.

Joker chokes on thin air. He hasn't seen the Turian since Shepard's funeral, and the intervening years have been anything but kind. Seems as though Joker's not been the only one to flirt with self-harming impulses. He'd willingly walked into the arms of Cerberus, and Garrus had pissed off an entire station worth of gangs.

But Garrus is genuinely surprised to see Shepard alive, which means he hadn't abandoned her like the rest. He might be a mess, but at least he's there.

The mercs return, and Shepard and Garrus turn from their conversation to fight.

The attack drags on for hours, and Garrus is visibly fading. Too many days of stims would be Joker's guess. Still, it looks like everything is going as planned. One more wave, and the team will be able to return to the _Normandy_.

The ship's scanners ding. "Incoming gunship, on your eleven," Joker says.

The ground team scrambles for cover, but Garrus isn't linked into the comms, so he remains standing just a second too long. His shields fall, but he rolls behind a crate before the bullets do any real damage.

Something, anger or desperation, posses Garrus, and he dives into exposure, just in time to catch a rocket to the face.

"Rolston, Chakwas," Joker radios. "Report to the shuttle now. I'm sending coordinates. Maintain distance until I give the all clear. Prepare for pickup, at least one injury, active combatants, at least one airborne."

It takes the ground team too long to down the gunship. There's no medigel for Garrus' injured face, because his damned helmet is still sitting on the balcony railing. EDI is running a probability of survival calculation for Garrus, and one of Joker's screens displays a rapidly falling number.

Finally, the gunship plummets. Joker green lights Rolston and the doc. They have maybe three minutes before the fire clears enough to allow more combatants to cross the bridge.

"Joker," Shepard's voice never wavers, but now that she's crouched over Garrus, Joker sees EDI's calculations were optimistic. "We need emergency pickup, tell Doctor-" The sound of the shuttle thrusters interrupts. "Ah," she says, "I forgot how good you are."

* * *

Joker's performing routine Cerberus monitoring- not snooping- when Garrus wakes and goes to see the Commander.

"Looks like your calculations were wrong, Thing."

"On the contrary, Mr. Moreau. I calculated a five point seven percent chance of Mr. Vakarian's survival. Your quick thinking increased that to eleven point two percent. His current health remains within predicted outcomes."

Joker slams EDI's mute button and brings up the audio from the Communication's Room.

"-sick experiments they were doing?" Garrus asks. The Cerberus thing. Does he not remember Shepard's wrath every time they cleaned out one of those labs? Does he really think she's forgotten?

"That's why I'm glad you're here, Garrus. If I'm walking into hell, I want someone I trust at my side."

There's a war on, so Joker ignores the ache in his gut and shuts down the feed. Rolston said the shuttle was flying funny, so Joker pulls up the computer log to see if he can't find the issue. It's probably the damned starboard thruster again. Maybe Garrus will be as good with shuttles as he was with the old Mako.

He's neck deep in numbers when Shepard's hand settles on his shoulder. "That was good work, Lieutenant. Thank you."

"Commander." Joker shrugs. It's not like he'd even done any flying.

Shepard moves into his line of sight. "Really, Joker, I couldn't do this without you." He shrugs again and Shepard rolls her eyes. "We're headed back stationside. Have a couple more idiots to add to the squad. Who knows, maybe this 'Veteran' is really Wrex under an assumed name."

"He sure as hell fits the dossier." There. It is the damned Thruster. Joker sends out a work order to Hawthorne. "So back to Omega already? You slept since we left Bethany Station?"

Shepard's saved from answering by the arrival of Miranda to the cockpit.

"You asked for me, Shepard?"

"Officer Lawson," Shepard inclines her head. "Two things. I'd like you to accompany me back to Omega at 1300 hours."

"Of course."

"Good. I'm also relieving you from your position as Executive Officer, effective immediately," Shepard says like she might mention they need extra coffee next time they take on supplies.

Miranda's perfect skin flushes tomato red, "You have no right-"

"I have not granted you permission to speak freely, Officer Lawson, but I will explain my orders. One time." Not that Joker's not enjoying the show, Shepard is fantastic when she's angry, but he wishes they were having this conversation somewhere he could eavesdrop but not become an unwitting biotic casualty.

"As Commanding Officer of this ship, the position of XO is mine to give. You are a critical member of my ground team, and as such, you are absent from the _Normandy_ far more than is acceptable for an XO. Moreover, you are not equipped to handle alien crew as your longstanding ties to a human terrorist organization make you suspect."

"And who will you put in my place? The Turian?" Joker wonders if he could surreptitiously film their fight. He's just about to pull up the cockpit's vid feed, when Shepard's next comment stops him dead.

" You will retain your duties as operation officer. The _Normandy_'s new XO is Lieutenant Moreau. "

"You're kidding." Miranda says, so he doesn't have to.

"You are dismissed, Officer Lawson. I will see you in the airlock when we are ready to leave."

Joker's jaw is hanging open.

"Sorry for springing that on you." Shepard sighs. "Wasn't fair of me, but congratulations on your promotion, Lieutenant Moreau. Though I'm afraid it doesn't come with a pay increase." She frowns. "Probably. I honestly have no idea how Cerberus functions. Do you even draw a paycheck?"

"I'm flattered, Commander, really, but-"

"I didn't promote you to flatter you. What I told Miranda was the truth. I need someone on ship who I respect and who my crew respects. Like it or not, that's you."

He's not command material, that's a truth he knows deep in his bones. "All due respect, Commander, but I'm a recluse, and a cripple, and I don't _like _people."

"Which makes you good at calling people on their crap. Most of the time you're funny enough you don't even piss them off. You intuit the ground team's needs. You're the best man for the job. But I'm not asking, Joker. I'm your commanding officer, and if you make me pull rank, I will."

"Aye, aye, Commander." He snaps a salute. It's still a fucking bad idea, but he's not sure Miranda is a better one.

Shepard smiles, relieved and grateful. "You'll be good at it, trust me."

When the ground team leaves, EDI's voice comes over the speakers saying, "The Commanding Officer is ashore, XO Moreau has the deck." It's the most frightening thing Joker's ever heard.

* * *

A/N: The previous chapter was missing a scene break, I apologize for any confusion. Thank you to everyone who has read/commented/favorited/followed this story.


	5. Unknown

Shepard returned two hours ago with a Salarian doctor and a human merc (not Wrex, but this Massani looks just as volatile.)

Now they're waiting for the mass relay, and that's the worst thing about flying civilian. The relay lines sometimes stretch for hours, and even though Shepard's specter status has been reinstated, it doesn't offer the same line cuts the flagship of Human-Turian peace enjoyed.

The wait does afford Joker the opportunity to flip through the crew files, though. Shepard was groundside for nearly fifteen hours, and the ship is still in one piece, so he hasn't royally fucked up his new position just yet. Guess that means he ought to start taking it seriously.

Shepard comes by a little later, bearing gifts in the form of hot coffee. It's black, but he'll drink it anyway. She's engrossed in a datapad, barely nods when he says hello.

Some of these personnel files look complete. Like Jacob's. Basic family information, educational records, military service records, list of Cerberus projects, all included with dates and links to more information. Others, like Miranda's, are so full of redactions it's hard to tell if she even works for Cerberus now.

One redaction, though, is more confusing than the rest. "So what's the J stand for?" Joker asks when Shepard's file comes up. The holo is of a much younger woman in dress blues, trying to look intimidating, but coming off scared instead. Joker's not sure he'd recognize her without the nametag.

Shepard looks up, brow furrowed in confusion. "What J?"

"J. Shepard. Your files don't have your full name." Joker answers.

He's not expecting laughter, but mirth overtakes Shepard. Her eyes crinkle, and she cackles, head thrown back into the leather seat. The sound echoes across the floor. The bridge crew turn to stare in fascination as their commander completely. loses. her. shit.

It's a while before Shepard can breathe again, and she's holding her side when she finally spits out, "You're teasing me, right?"

Joker throws up innocent hands. "Hell, Shepard, I've no idea what I've just stepped in."

That makes her laugh again, more controlled, but the grin doesn't leave her face. "Anderson," she wipes a tear from her eye before continuing, "he was the one who... recruited? me off the streets."

Her smile must be contagious, because Joker can't help an answering smirk as he nods for her to continue.

"I guess you could say I wasn't the most cooperative recruit he'd ever had- I've never been one for limited options, and the choice between the Alliance and jail was pretty limited- so when he asked for my name-" Shepard blushes, as if only just aware that her story has gained an audience. No one is working at the consoles around them. Kelly has even left her post to hear better. "Well, he already knew Shepard, 'cause that's what all the Reds called me. When I wouldn't stop cussing him out long enough to tell him my first name, he said," Shepard's voice deepens into the worst imitation Joker's ever heard of the councilor, "I guess I'll just put Jackass down, then, shall I?"

Joker's not sure he's ever heard the commander curse, and the shock of it startles out a laugh. "You're shitting me."

" 'fraid not."

"Commander Jackass Shepard." Joker salutes her. "No wonder they just stuck with Shepard at the funeral."

"Can you imagine the toll on recruitment?"

"I don't know, I'd sign up in the memory of Commander Jackass. Hell, anytime you wanted to curse at your CO, you could pretend it was a gesture of admiration." Joker tugs the brim of his cap. "You're a real Jackass, ma'am."

"Try it with me, and I'll throw you out the airlock," Shepard says.

"So what _is_ your first name?"

Shepard shrugs. "No clue. Was a member of the Reds as far back as I can remember, none of them ever said if they knew."

"Shit," Joker says, like the idea's just occurred to him. "They gave the Star of Terra to Commander Jackass."

"I'm going to punch you in your face," Shepard replies. "And it was Lieutenant Jackass at the time." Her eyes are glittering.

"Wow, threatening a cripple. Really living up to your name there, aren't you, Commander?"

The work silently for almost an hour longer, until the info on Joker's screen starts blurring. He swipes the files closed. It's possible that doing his job well will mean actually talking to people. It's a prospect he's not quite brought himself to terms with.

Whatcha reading?" he asks.

"Batarian fairytales," Shepard answers.

"If it's porn, you can just say so. I promise not to be scandalized."

She snorts. "Scandalizing you is never something I worry about, Joker. But seriously, it's Batarian fairytales."

"Is it _Fornax_? If so, can I see it when you're done?"

With a roll of her eyes, Shepard hands over the datapad, and the steady glow of the screen shows... Batarian fairytales.

"Okay, first, what? Second, why? Third, Batarians have fairytales? Doesn't that seem a little... soft?"

"On the contrary, Mr. Moreau," EDI says. "All known organic species have mythical tales intended primarily for their young."

"No one was talking to you, Thing."

Shepard lays her hand on his arm. "Play nice with the AI. And to answer your question, the Batarians seem to have been the first race to come into contact with the Collectors. A lot of Batarian fairytales seem to use them as bad guys."

"And you're reading them why?"

"EDI sorted them into stories from distinct origins. Any trait which carries across might be based on fact. At any rate, the only other intel we have is a panicked Quarians data retrieved through several feet of solid steel. I'll take what I can get."

Joker hums in thought. "Okay. So what's a Batarian read to their kids?"

"Well in this one a Batarian girl murders each of her family members and delivers their bodies to a beast in exchange for a bauble to give her true love. He blows her head off after he gives over the bauble, though. It ends, 'Let not fleshly friendships and base urges compel us to sin and neglect. The Word makes its demands, and it demands obedience!'"

Joker gives a low whistle. "Wowzer. So true love conquering all isn't exactly a tenet of Batarian society I take it?"

Shepard shrugs. "It's not that much worse than something like Blue Beard. But it confirms what the others have been saying. Standard Collector behavior has been to purchase alien bodies with advanced tech. What's happening to the human colonies is a break in operating procedure."

"Any ideas as to why?"

"Not a one," Shepard replies as she finds her feet. "Alright, I'm going to go see if Mordin has anything concrete on the seeker swarms."

"The Quarian's data was that useful?"

"Apparently. Mordin made his own seeker bug, has it flying around a cage in the tech lab."

That's enough to send a chill down Joker's spine. "Shit, Shepard, that's on this floor. Some of us work here!"

"Oh don't tell me the universe's best pilot is afraid of a little bug."

"No, but a bug as big as my face? That injects people with a paralytic agent? That's just good judgment, Commander Jackass."

Shepard pulls the brim of his cap down over his eyes as she leaves.


	6. Belief

The Blue Suns merc standing between the Commander and Jedore's compound is gasping like a fish out of water, a tiny trickle of blood drying on his hip. The wound might scab over before Shepard even finishes her interrogation, but the kid certainly thinks he's dying.

"I've got a nice application of medi-gel ready to go. But if you'd rather I just kept walking?" Shepard's voice over the comms is tight with suppressed laughter, and though the vid feeds reveal only the tight lines that Joker thinks of privately as Shepard's 'good cop' face, the smirk is _there_. (Her 'bad cop' look is less a facial expression, and more the repeated firing of her Carnifex.)

Joker holds in his own laughter until the kid claims that a base full of mercs isn't equipped to fight 'goddamn commandos'.

"Yeah, Commander, how can you expect a planet's worth of armed men to fend off you, Miranda, _and _Garrus? They'd have to learn to aim the damn weapons."

Shepard smirks, and Garrus gives an open-mouthed grin that has the merc quaking in fear. Turian teeth will do that to the uninitiated.

It's a shame the boy doesn't know anything, because he's the type that spills everything. Though, truth be told, most people are when it comes to the Commander.

Once Shepard's told the poor kid to run, Lawson comes on the comms. "Cerberus protocols discourage unnecessary comm chatter on high-risk operations, Mr. Moreau." He could be wrong, but even Miranda sounds amused.

"High-risk? I think I may have the wrong feeds coming in." Lawson definitely snorts at that.

The frivolity disappears when they find the tank grown Krogan.

It's times like this, when Cerberus sends them out to join forces with madmen, murders, monsters, that it's hardest to accept the hand that feeds them. Cerberus is a soulless master. Some days Joker doubts any of them will escape that taint.

As bad as the child-like Krogan outside is, inside the compound is worse.

The first tipoff to just how monstrous this operation has become is the Asari from Saren's genophage torture labs working the front desk. Shepard lets her go, again, and Joker struggles to choke back his irritation. Shepard gives second chances- it's what she does. He ought to be grateful, as he's operating on one of his own.

When Shepard steps through the lab doors, standing there to greet her is the largest Krogan Joker's ever laid eyes on. He towers over Garrus, shoulder humps rising a foot or more over his head. Bigger than even Wrex, and standing free, not imprisoned as they've been led to believe.

"I take it you're Okeer?" Shepard asks. "You don't seem particularly caged... or grateful that we're here."

"You may claim to be here to help, but the formerly deceased Shepard is not a sign of gentle change." Okeer knows about Virmire. Joker's fists clench in fear.

"Surprised?" The warlord asks. "All Krogan should know you." The grin he gives Shepard is just this side of feral.

Miranda's hand is sparking blue, and Garrus has his riffle pointed at Okeer's head, but the Krogan's shields are still glowing, and even together there's no saying they'll be able to take him down before he can injure the Commander.

Joker pages the shuttle team and doctors to ready.

Shepard, though, seems to feel no fear. She nods, but doesn't palm her gun. A quick glance at his screens show that her shield batteries are reading fifteen percent. Enough to stop one bullet and no more.

Virmire flashes in Joker's mind, the same decision and another angry Krogan Shepard thought she could talk down from homicide. That it worked then means nothing now. Joker doesn't dare breathe.

"But I approve," Okeer says.

The monster begins to monologue. He's set out not to cure but to _purify_ the Krogan race. And worse still, Okeer's been selling his Krogan rejects to the collectors for tech. Shepard's fairy tales were right after all.

Bile rises in Joker's throat, and for a moment he thinks he might have to make a blind run for the head.

The human consideration for the disabled is rare in the galaxy, he knows. He can remember with burning clarity General Invectus' sneer as he claimed no cripple would ever pilot a Turian ship. He's seen the way the Batarians recoil from his crutches like he carries a contagion. The citadel is not home to a single disabled Asari or Salerian, and what are the odds of that if all else is equal?

"Weaklings," Okeer says about the Krogans he's rejected. Joker knows the rhetoric. Cripple. Gimp. Freak.

His skin flushes with anger, but action is not his to take. Shepard will mete out justice, and he'll pick her up afterward. It's not perfect, but it's enough.

The Commander studies the Krogan for a long moment, and then she smiles. It's a little dangerous at the edges, the sort of smirk she saves for slavers and Cerberus scientists.

But then Shepard offers the monster a place on her team. She tells him he's worthy because he knows how to deconstruct a problem. She runs to kill Jedore at Okeer's bidding.

The merc boss might not be better than Okeer, but she's sure as fuck not worse.

Gas fills the control center, and Joker watches as EDI's survival probability for Okeer ticks downward. EDI attempts to override the base's infrastructure controls, but the system is too old and piecemeal for her databank's coverage. Joker takes his hands from the console and watches. After a moment, he rescinds the page to Chakwas and Mordin. They won't be necessary.

EDI finds an override, just as Shepard takes down Jedore. It comes too late to save Okeer, comes too late for his pure ideals to torture anymore imperfect children.

The Commander radios for a retrieval of the package, and Joker stays on deck long enough to see Shepard and her tanked Krogan safely on the ship. Then he calls up his relief and heads to crew quarters. The Commander can do whatever the fuck she wants with her perfect genetic specimen, but if she expects him to watch, well-

* * *

Two hours later, Joker can't for the life of him decide whether his anger with Shepard is justified or not. He'd like to throw himself into work, but since he stalked away from helm like a child with a temper tantrum, he's stuck with the job he enjoys a lot less. Another thing to be pissed at Shepard about.

His first stop is the med-bay, because the Doc is a lot less irritating than everyone else on this damn ship.

No. The ship is very nice. The Doc is a lot less irritating than everyone else on this damn Cerberus crew.

When the doors cycle open, Joker's treated to the sight of the Commander's bare back, Chakwas stretching to grab something from the medicine cabinet beside her.

Shepard turns her head, and on seeing him smiles, but the motion calls his attention to the still darkening bruises up the line of her spine. She'd been fine during debrief.

"What the fuck did you do?" he asks, temper sharp on his tongue. Chakwas' face falls in unconcealed shock, and the Commander blinks. Twice. Joker debates adding a belated ma'am, but decides it would only serve to highlight his disrespect. Anyway, injured or not, he's still pissed at Shepard and doesn't care if she knows.

"Let our baby Krogan out of his tank. He felt the need to challenge my authority as his _Commander_," Shepard places the barest emphasis on the last word, just enough to call him out on his behavior. "The situation is resolved now. Our new crewman's name is Grunt."

Right, because of course she thought that letting a potentially violent Krogan out of his tank all by herself was the way to go. And of course the Krogan was now a member of the team. Guess perfect genes were a free pass pretty much everywhere.

Perfect human, perfect cyborg, and now perfect fucking Krogan.

Chakwas opens the salve and gives him a pointed glare. Joker only realizes he's staring when Shepard asks, "Will you meet me in my quarters in fifteen, Lieutenant?"

"Aye, aye, Ma'am."

By the time she reaches her room, he's once again laid claim to her swivel chair, though this time he sits straight and stiff.

"You're pissed," she says as the doors close behind her. "Tell me why."

Pieces of equipment drop as she crosses the room, revealing the body hugging suit beneath. Perfect fucking cyborg. It's an ungenerous thought, but one Joker can't let go of. Shepard's been nearly naked in front of him twice in the last hour, and Joker's still so frustrated it barely even registers.

The anger is mostly gone now, and he just feels weary. It is not his job, he tells himself, to play disabled informant to every Tom, Dick, and Harry who can't be bothered to think for even one minute what it might be like. It's not his fucking job to explain why people like Okeer are too evil to invite along.

It's not his fucking job.

"Okeer," he says.

She sighs. "What about Okeer?" Shepard has no fucking right to sound upset with him.

"You thought I'd be okay with inviting him along? Oh, bring on the genocidal maniacs!" He lets the chair spin so he's no longer facing her. "Please, more of the people who think I'm a waste of valuable air."

The last of Shepard's boots hits the locker with a bang. "And what was I supposed to say, Joker? That I was planning to wring every drop of Collector intel from him before handing him over to the Alliance? I needed his cooperation. I needed him _alive_."

Her gun cases thud heavily against the table, one clatters open and spills its contents on the floor. Shepard glares. "Of course he was a monster. Of course he wasn't going to be a member of the team. Who do you think I am?"

Realization of his own stupidity drips like ice water down his spine. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"You think I'm a proponent of racial purification now? That I think what he was doing to those _children _was alright?

"I'm sor-"

"No," Shepard says. "Why did you think I was okay with what was happening down there, Jeff?"

He opens his mouth to reply, only to realize he has no fucking clue. Why didn't he trust her? Why did he assume the worst?

EDI saves him the need to answer. "Mr. Moreau, we are experiencing unusual gravitational pull on our FTL course. Officer Hawthorne requests your presence in the cockpit."

He needs to say something, but no words come.

"Go." Shepard waves him off. "Just go."

Her closed door isn't enough to muffle the thud of fist against metal as he waits for the elevator to descend.


	7. Again, Again

The Normandy slides out of FTL without a hitch, and the board lights up green. She glows, pleasant, and the sight is like a newborn's sleepy smile to him. She's his baby, and Joker doesn't care if that makes him a sap.

The green lights running the length of the display are the safety of every member of Joker's crew. Until the last of them has turned red and the emission sink needs dumped, the Normandy is completely invisible. At least so long as the Geth keep to their strict no windows policy.

They hit this system in the middle of the Normandy's night cycle, so the deck is perfectly quiet but for the hum of the drive core and the skeleton crew's slow movements.

"We're wasting our time." Trust Pressley to ruin a good thing. He's always grumpy when he pulls a night shift. "Four days up and down this sector, and we haven't found any sign of Geth activity."

"Come on, Pressley. We found that ancient Asari pop station, and we all saw you dancing."

Pressley frowns, but before he can respond, Mandi, the new ensign- works on Joker's downtime mostly- interrupts, "Picking up something on the long-range scanners." She's not bad looking. A little on the quiet side. Competent though, which is why he hadn't made Jefferies stay when his shift was over. Also because Jefferies is fucking annoying. The worst thing Joker can say about Mandi is that she uses a nickname that makes her seem about twelve years old. "Unidentified vessel, looks like a cruiser."

The data comes up his displays. No known matches, and with specs like that, Joker doubts it's a junker. Good for Mandi to get a little action. Maybe if she keeps it together Shepard will approve a few shift changes for Jefferies.

"Cruiser is changing course, now on intercept trajectory."

Shit. What?

The board's still green. There's no way anyone should be able to intercept them. "It's not the geth," Joker says. His mind races, but there's only one explanation.

It's the fucking Reapers.

"Brace for evasive maneuvers!"

Joker pulls the Normandy into a barrel roll, and the combined efforts of both the dampeners and his seat brace aren't enough to keep Joker from slamming into the dash. His knee burns, best guess both his patella and tibia are broken.

The rear vid feed shows the foreign ship gaining on them. It looks massive against Alchera, blocking out the planet's reflected light. Nothing that huge should move that quickly out of FTL. Its beam fires, and the Normandy shudders with the impact.

"Pressley!" Mandi cries, but the noise is nearly drowned out by the scream of alarms. Fire on deck. The smoke filling the bridge deploys his breather, and Joker races to put it on. The seal suctions against the skin of his face, recycled air pulling the smoke away from his watering eyes.

Joker guesses they can take two more hits before the smoke doesn't matter. The kinetic shield is already down, and the mass effect field which supplies their air pressure in case of hull breach won't last long. Pressley and Mandi are both silent behind him.

Time slows.

The Normandy is equipped with a series of Mattox 10-S escape pods. They're civilian grade, made for the big tour ships, chosen because they're compact, ideal for a stealth frigate not meant for active combat.

Only one problem. The fucking pods don't fly. Which means once they're deployed, the crew inside will be sitting ducks for the Reaper ship.

Joker pulls the Normandy's nose hard port towards Alchera. "Come on, baby. Just a little further." The planet's gravity is their best hope.

Kaidan's voice over the comms is angry. "Joker, evac! Now!" Joker's ignored the orders flashing across his screen this long, they can wait a bit longer.

"Sorry, LT." It's a struggle to keep the fear from his voice. But Kaidan's a competent co-pilot, he could get the Normandy into Alchera's orbit. If he command Joker to change places, well, Joker's not sure he'd be brave enough to refuse. So he layers on the smug arrogance as he replies, "Not abandoning ship. I'll pick you all up after I lose these bastards."

Kaidan's string of profanity is cut with the press of a button.

Half the sensors are gone, either blown away or jostled out of calibration badly enough to be useless. Even so, the Normandy flies better than half the shuttles Joker used to pilot back on Arcturus. Shame to let such a beautiful ship crash through atmo. They pass the distance of stable orbit, and the ship begins to fall. He's aimed just right, though. The crew should have plenty of time to evacuate.

Joker spins his chair, ready to run, but the sight behind him turns his blood cold. The bridge has become a maze of tangled steel and burning equipment. One of the support beams has pierced through the co-pilot's seat beside him, ceiling now moaning in protest at half its usual height. The wreckage isn't likely something he could clear at the best of times, and with the new break in his knee? Impossible.

Alchera is beautiful when he turns around. White and glistening. Joker sinks back into his seat. He will hold the Normandy steady as long as he can. He will hold the line. He thinks of Kirrahe and smiles. Thinks of Ash and her fierce determination, and his fear melts away.

The display marks the launch of each pod. All but one shoots towards the ice below.

"Come on, baby. Hold together. Only a little longer now." Joker wonders if the black box will be recovered, wonders if he should record a last message for Gunny and his mom and dad. If he starts, though, there are things he might say, things he might confess-

The art-grav is the next to go. Only a minute until the mass effect field disappears. Not enough time for confessions. No, there is only enough time to think how beautiful, how infinite space is from his pilot chair. Only enough time to breathe in the light of the stars. There are worse ways to go.

"Jeff!"

Shepard must have overridden the comm link mute. He wonders how long before the distance grows too great, how long before the failing technology severs them. Does she know he's not on one of the other escape pods? Will she be sorry to be without him when her feet touch Alchera's icy surface?

Shepard's hand finds his shoulder.

"Come on, we have to get out of here!" No. Not Shepard. No. She needs to leave. Now.

"I won't abandon the Normandy!" He'll slow Shepard down, and there's precious little time. "I can still save her!"

He can still save _her_.

"The Normandy's gone." Her gauntlets are bruising where they curl around his arm, but the determination in her eyes is bright.

Fear and hope claw back into consciousness. And Joker doesn't want to die, not like this. There could still be time. He struggles to his feet, Shepard supporting his weight, because not even adrenaline is enough to make his broken leg weight-bearing. There could still be time.

In the end, of course, there isn't.

"Commander!" he screams as a blast tears her away from him. "Shepard!" The pod doors slam shut. No. No. No.

The pod ejects, the force throwing him against the wall, and then there is only pain.

* * *

It's common practice for the Commander to eat her meals in the mess, she switches shifts once a week so that she's available to each member of the Normandy. And so no one feels undue scrutiny. It can be hard to eat in the presence of a legend.

It's Joker's bad luck that their falling out happened while she's taking meals with his shift.

The tension remains, and Joker knows he's caused it. So now rather than sitting next to her, he's a table away, sneaking glances at her when she's not looking. There is so much he needs to say, but deep down, Joker is a coward. Alchera taught him that.

The Commander eats with the most exquisitely correct table manners he's ever seen. Most biotics- hell, most marines- shovel food into their mouths like it's their last damn meal, but not Shepard. Every bit of food is cut into uniform bites, and between each taste of food, Shepard takes a sip of water. Every three bites she dabs her mouth with a napkin. Bite. Sip. Bite. Sip. Bite. Sip. Dab.

She still eats a biotic portion size, but it takes her nearly the whole hour, and for a woman who is usually so damned efficient, the exercise in manners is mindboggling.

Kelly grabs the Commander's attention, though she continues to eat. Bite. Sip. Bite. Sip. Bite. Sip. Dab. Like a machine. Joker hides a grin. It's a joke she'd appreciate, if they were speaking.

Shepard turns and catches his eye. Shit. Joker drops his eyes to his own plate, cheeks burning. What is he _doing?_

"Joker!" It's not the first time Garrus has said his name, if the irritation thrumming in his subvocals is any indication.

"What?"

"Your tongue is hanging like a Varren's."

"Fuck you." Joker says. It's not like he's been that obvious. And she's Commander fucking Shepard, if he wants to look a little, well, it's not like he's the only one.

"I'm flattered." Garrus grins. "But it didn't seem like I'm the one you were staring at."

The Turian cultural training made mandatory for the crew of the SR-1 has exactly one payoff. Vulgarities. Joker runs a finger over the bridge of his nose.

Garrus just laughs. Maybe something's lost with additional fingers? Joker settles for flipping the bird.

But then he's distracted from their conversation by the movement of the Commander across the mess. She drops her tray with Gardener, and Joker can see it's still half full. There are bags under her eyes, made gaunter by the glowing orange of her scars. Has she slept since Miranda woke her?

Her boots turn towards him, and fuck if it's not the third time in ten minutes he's been caught staring at her.

She doesn't seem offended, though, and Shepard settles into the seat beside him, close enough that her thigh just barely brushes his own. She swipes an orange slice from his plate and pops it into her mouth. But they're fighting, right? Joker's too confused to even protest at her pirating ways.

"Hey Lawson, have a sec?" Shepard calls across the mess. Miranda looks up from what looks to be an intense conversation with Jacob (though Taylor could make a conversation about the weather tense).

"Shepard," Miranda says as she sits beside Garrus. "You called?" There are overtones of censure in her voice, and Joker can see Shepard trying to hold in her irritation. Still, Miranda didn't directly call Shepard out, which is a marked improvement.

"I want your input on our next mission."

"And the comm room wouldn't be a better choice of locations?"

The Commander quirks one eyebrow at the other woman and waits. It's a long, tense moment as the two women stare each other down. Shepard doesn't have it in her to admit defeat, so Joker feels the stutter of his own relieved breath when Miranda ducks her head. "Of course, Shepard. What did you need?"

"Take a look at this," Shepard says, pulling up the virtual display on her omni. A couple of clicks, and the holo resolves into an image of an ark ship, though judging from the design it must be at least a decade old.

"When I said I wanted a hamburger made of real cow-"

Shepard shoots him a grin. "This is the location of our next potential recruit. "Convict named Jack, being held in Purgatory, maximum security private prison."

"Private prison?" Garrus asks, his police sensibilities ruffled.

"Blue Suns owned and operated. They make most of their money threatening to release prisoners onto colonized worlds, though rumor has it they also run something of a slaving ring."

"Cerberus bought us a con? Why does no one ever spring for the sexy women's warden model?" Joker asks. Miranda hums in irritaiton.

"You can't mean to trust the Blue Suns to just hand him over," Garrus says.

"I don't. That's what I wanted to talk about. I want to break in."

Joker smirks. Stealth maneuvers on a boat this size are why he went to flight school. "Yes," he says. "Absolutely. When do we leave?"

Garrus crows his agreement, and for a moment it really does feel just like old times.

"And how do you propose to break in to a maximum security prison ship, Shepard?" Miranda asks. "The Illusive Man has no doubt paid good money for this prisoner's release, and-"

"This ship makes it's livelihood by landing on poor colonized planets and threatening to release their prisoners if their operating expenses aren't met. We're coming out of there with more than just Jack." Shepard swipes another orange slice from his plate, and she's the fucking Commander, Joker's pretty sure Gardener would give her seconds. "Garrus, any chance you have C-Sec connections that could help with the extra cargo?"

"Consider it done, Shepard."

The mess is quiet and empty but for their party by the time everything is decided. Shepard stands, and the loss of her heat leaves Joker's leg cold. "Excellent. Joker, notify me when we pass through the relay."

Shepard heads towards the elevators, and damn him if he doesn't watch her leave, no more certain of where they stand than before.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the long delay between chapters. I started a new job, which threw my writing time into chaos for a little bit. Should be back to normal now. Thanks again for reading!


	8. Jack

The last piece slides home into the reassembled Spectre pistol with a sharp click, and Shepard drops her eyes to her omni. Fifty five seconds to field strip and reassemble, two more than it took her onboard the Normandy SR-1. She chokes back a curse. She'd thought scrounging up this old pre-heat sync gun would put some of her demons to rest, but it's only stirred up more.

Her memories are all there, from her time on the streets to the explosion. The strangling hand of open space stands clearest among them. But the muscle memory is either gone or lacking, and whether that's because of the muscle weaves or because they're completely different muscles on a completely different body, Shepard can't be sure.

The skin is all new too- and what else is there to expect from a body that fell through atmo- so the birthmark hiding in the cleft of one elbow is gone, as is the tattoo declaring her membership in the Reds. There were spider veins on the back of one calf, and an old scar on her scalp that had left a few strands of her hair bright white. It's the scar on her thumb, a burn from so long ago she barely remembers (a stove, she thinks), that she misses the most, afraid that with it will go the faint memory of loving arms embracing her.

Her omni beeps, declaring the end of her allotted ten minutes of sulking. She cases the gun and slides it under the bed. There are things to be done and a war to be won.

The elevator deposits her in front of the CIC, and this body has enough new muscle memory that she's halfway to the cockpit before she catches herself.

She ought to go clear the air. It's been fine over comms, but there's tension between them in person that-

Mordin's lab is spotless as always. He doesn't look up from the haptic display, fingers tapping in time to the tune he's humming. It takes her a moment, but Shepard eventually places the song. "Summertime" from Porgy and Bess if she's not mistaken.

They used to sell drugs out back of the Bezos Opera House, and on nights when business was slow and there was enough cash for food for the week, they used to sneak in and watch the shows from the empty boxes.

Shepard doesn't realize she's humming along until Mordin glances up at her. "Did not intend to duet, Shepard. Would have started in a higher key."

She can feel the flush burning on her cheeks, but chooses to ignore it. "How's the Seeker research coming?"

"Very exciting. Believe culprit to be glutamate analogue. Produces similar symptoms to Oxalyldiaminopropionic acid. Very rapid." The word has more syllables than Shepard has fingers, but Mordin spits it out without the slightest stutter. She wonders if he slurs when he's drunk. Wonders if Salarians get drunk.

"Can you create an immunization?" Shepard asks, bending to peer at the Seeker bug. Its tiny body slams again and again into the glass cage.

"Attempting to eliminate Seeker ability to track. Create Seeker specific invisibility cloak." Mordin never stops moving, bobbing and twitching as though he's being electrocuted. "Will wire into armor sets. Provide protection."

"Why can't the armor protect us from the Seeker stings in the first place?"

"Toxin transmission very advanced. 'Sting' inappropriate description."

"What about the rest of the crew? Those without armor?"

Mordin looks up, large eyes blinking. "Did not think them a priority, Shepard."

In her mind, Shepard replays the footage from Freedom's Progress, only this time it's not strangers falling victims to the swarms. It's Chakwas' body that goes rigid, Joker who is carried away by those strange aliens. "Right." She drags her fingers through her hair. "Of course. It's good work, Mordin, thank you."

The doctor cocks his head to one side. "Alliance scientists doing work on Seeker vaccine. Perhaps research could be shared? Vaccine not outside the realm of possibility."

She really needs to get it together if even the Salarian is trying to comfort her, feeble attempt though it is. There's no way to get access to the Alliance scientists, not for a known terrorist organization, not when even Anderson won't tell her anything. "I'll leave you to it," she says.

* * *

Everyone's heard the rumors. Newly implanted biotics breaking their lovers necks in the throes of passion, or enraged skycar drivers tearing terminals apart with spatial distortions. That's the reason the Alliance doesn't implant biotics with substantial eezo nodules outside prefrontal cortex.

This Jack Cerberus has joined them up with is an amygdalic biotic if Shepard's ever seen one, not truly surprising, as nearly all the truly powerful humans biotics are miggys.

Jack's really a class of her own, though. Every mass effect field, every kinetic barrier, every twitch of Jack's fingers has Shepard's own biotics flaring in response, eezo nodules spiking in pain from one end of her skull to the other.

Purgatory's warden is dead somewhere in the room behind them, and Shepard's breath is coming short as she chases after the woman in flickering blue. For the amount of intel they had going in, this mission's turned into a cock-up in record time.

The corridor reeks of blood and death. They're gaining on the girl, though, and her last shockwave didn't even kill the Turian she sent it towards. Garrus put the man out of his misery with a single shotgun shell.

Jack is definitely slowing now. Too little food and too much power expenditure (Jack folded one of the station's walls like an accordion rather than look for the damned door) have left the biotic running on empty.

Shepard rounds the corner to see Jack frozen before a bay of windows, the docked Normandy clearly visible.

She's barely more than a girl, really. And if Shepard hadn't just witnessed the last ten minutes of massacre, she'd be tempted to write Jack of as little more. The biotic's covered head to toe in a whirl of ink, like some half-baked musician trying to make a past out of bad decisions. Most of it's ink anyway, though Shepard ran with the Reds long enough to recognize the tell-tale puckering of a red sand tattoo curling over Jack's ribcage, a rather beautiful portrait of a girl.

There's not enough time to inspect them all- though some are certainly gang insignia- before Jack startles from her stupor. "Cerberus!" Jack spits. She swings her arms and clenches her fists as though unsure which biotic power to summon. All the clear hallmarks of a woman teetering towards extremis. Shepard wonders if Jack was still dusting up when they imprisoned her here, and if the cryo was deep enough to freeze the withdrawals.

There's a flicker of movement from the other side of the room, and Shepard downs the merc. The noise draws Jack's attention, and if the stirring at the base of Shepard's neck is any indication, her biotics too.

"You're in a bad situation, and I'm here to get you out of it," Shepard says.

"Oh Fuck, Shepard, you have got to lay off the Blasto movies," Joker complains in her ear piece, just as Jack says, "Shit, you sound like a pussy."

Joker's guffaw of laughter comes through the comms unstiffled.

Shepard would tell her erstwhile pilot to shut up, but _surprise_, her Cerberus insignia is causing yet another problem. Jack's eyes are already back on the ship.

"I'm not going anywhere with you; you're Cerberus."

Honest to God it would be easier to complete this mission still dead than it is decked out in black and gold. "I'm here to ask for your help with something a lot bigger than Cerberus."

"Not to rush you, Commander, but I'm reading t-60 seconds before the oxygen in your sector is gone," Joker says, and he must think he's hilarious, because a timer flickers to life in the lower quadrant of her HUD, cheerfully labeled _Death Clock_.

"We could knock her out and take her," Garrus suggests helpfully, and Shepard's hard pressed to remember why she was glad to be reunited with either of these boys.

"I'd like to see you try." Jack glowers at Garrus, not cowed by the shotgun leveled towards her face.

Shepard fights back a sigh. "We're not attacking her."

"Good move."

A lesser woman would roll her eyes. Shepard most certainly doesn't, and even if she did, it's not like anyone could see it behind her helmet. "There's three of us and one of you. If we were the same Cerberus you knew before you'd be dead or captured by now. The station is burning, you need to come with us."

"I want access to Cerberus databases; I want to see what they have on me."

"Make it quick, Commander. T-30 and counting." The clock changes font to a cheery Comic Sans. It's a shame her helmet won't cover for flipping someone off. Though really, who would Joker report her to?

"Done," Shepard says. "Full access."

"So why the hell are we standing here?"

They run.


	9. Reports

Joker doesn't remember crawling into the restraints.

The entrance into Alchera's atmosphere was a daze in and out of consciousness. And when he'd woken, it was to tubes down his throat (because he'd broken three ribs in a row on his left side) and Chakwas' worried face. Whatever came between the close of the pod doors and the antiseptic smell of hospital is gone for good, and Joker doesn't want to remember. If the last months could be done away as easily, he'd give them up without a second thought.

Chakwas was the only member of the Normandy crew he'd seen since. She's been reassigned though, so she's not here now.

He doesn't blame them. If Alenko or Wrex or Garrus had killed Shepard, well, he wouldn't stand with them at their trial either.

"On the count of involuntary manslaughter," the Admiral reads, "this court finds the defendant not guilty by reason of necessity." A murmur runs through the courtroom, and the judge takes a moment to regain his composure before he can continue. "Signed this day, Earth January, 2184, Arcturus Station." The Commander to the judge's left grimaces and shakes her head, clearly dismayed.

"Officer Moreau, you are hereby reinstated to active service effective upon receipt of a clean bill of health. Members of the panel, the court thanks you for your service. You are dismissed." The gavel bangs.

Joker's lawyer turns to him, grin splitting her face. Not guilty? He falls back into the courtroom chair. Not guilty.

His mom's arms find him, then Gunny's, then his dad's. He can still hear Shepard's voice. Still feel her hand on his arm. Not guilty. Gunny's sobbing.

Come on, we have to get out of here! Not guilty.

His parents and attorney walk in military formation before him as they leave the courtroom, Gunny pushing his wheelchair. It's enough to part the sea of reporters, but not to stem the tide of their questions.

"How does it feel to get away with murder?"

"Do you regret being responsible for the death of the savior of the Citadel?"

"Can you be trusted to helm another ship?"

"Why couldn't the Alliance's best frigate escape a Geth cruiser?"

"Does your disease make you a liability for high risk missions?"

First the skycab's door, and then the walls of his mom's apartment buffer the tide. Gunny turns on the vid broadcasts, but every station is showing the same thing. Him, leaving the courtroom like a cripple. The same holo of Shepard, taken just after Elysium. Pictures from orbit of the Normandy's wreckage. Angry reporters saying what everyone thinks.

Dad turns it off.

It doesn't matter. Joker agrees with the talking heads. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. He feels it stained into his skin.

Days later, Hilary asks if he's excited to fly again.

Alchera, bright and beautiful, like a globe of diamond dust. The shudder of the Normandy as gravity rends her damaged hull.

"'Course I am, Gunny."

* * *

Joker wakes up feeling like hell. Every joint from his neck to his little toe is pulsating pain. One of those days.

And fuck that, he has three more hours of scheduled sleep, and he'll be damned if he doesn't get them, not when Shepard's barred him from the cockpit, anyway.

Seven minutes later, and Joker resigns himself to the long hobble to the medbay. It's fucking ridiculous that Chakwas won't let him keep the good meds on hand. It's not like there are Alliance regs to follow, after all.

The night cycle means only a skeleton crew stands at stations, so at least he's spared the indignity of people fucking staring. It would be easier with the crutches, of course, but there's something undeniably liberating about striding forward on nothing but his own two feet. At least, there's something liberating on days when his own body's not attempting to kill him from the inside out.

The mess is empty, but light bleeds from the med bay windows. Shepard and Chakwas sit illuminated, in what Joker might mistake for a serious conversation, if Chakwas didn't choose that lurch to her feet and reveal the nearly empty glass in her hand. She screams something, the soundproofing is too good for Joker to make out what, and then collapses back to her seat giggling.

The old broad giggles, who knew?

But Shepard too looks light with laughter, eyes crinkled in the corners. The scars across her face are faint in the dim light. She's beautiful.

His body is still on fire, but Joker thinks the meds can wait. It's been a long time since he's seen the Commander happy like that.

Besides, if the Commander's drunk, that puts him in charge, and as commanding officer, his first act is to reinstate his access to the cockpit.

Hawthorne, half-asleep, doesn't question his short shift, and speeds out of the room, probably on his way to the poker game currently going on in engineering. If Joker knew about the game, he'd have to put a stop to it, and if Shepard wanted a hard-ass for a XO, she should have kept Lawson.

Joker settles in to correct Hawthorne's mistakes. The man would be a perfectly acceptable pilot if he weren't so damned _lazy_.

"Trimming compensators, decimal one-two."

"Lieutenant Moreau, you are not currently authorized to pilot this ship," the Thing says. "Permissions revoked at 2200 hours, continuance until 0400 hours. Please recall Officer Hawthorne."

"Give it a break, EDI. Shepard is relieved of duty until she sobers up. I'm in charge, and I'm flying my fucking ship."

"Acknowledged, Mr. Moreau." The voice sounds put out, but that's not an emotion a computer should have, so Joker chooses to ignore it. Two seconds later, the Thing returns. "The Commander has been notified of the breach in protocol, as per Cerberus directive. Officer Hawthorne has been recalled."

Jeff sighs and pings Hawthorne's omni. _It's just the fucking AI, ignore recall. Massani and Jack both count cards, but you didn't hear it from me. _

"Can't have a fucking silent ship like everyone else, got one that talks back."

For a long time there is no noise but the buzz of the haptics and the distant hum of the drive core. He should schedule himself some night shifts. Enjoy the peace.

"Hey, Thomas." Sex drips from Kelly's voice. "Got a spare minute, or maybe five?" She giggles, actually fucking giggles.

"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding! Hawthorne's sneaking off for quickies while he's flying my baby?! No, absolutely not. EDI, recall Hawthorne while I de-arm the airlocks." Fucking unacceptable. And- oh, hell- have they used his chair? Joker shudders. Not his patent leather chair.

"Elimination of coworkers is against Cerberus protocols, Mr. Moreau."

"It's a joke, Thing." Joker sighs. "Probably." Leaving the Normandy unattended in deep space to go fuck a subordinate? It's fucking ridiculous is what this is.

"Calm down." Kelly sinks into the co-pilot's seat, and doesn't she look just too comfortable there. He shudders. "We don't do anything while he's on duty. Where is Thomas, anyhow?"

"You keep yourself out of my helm when Hawthorne's up here, you understand? That's a direct order from your superior officer, Chambers."

She yawns and stretches, clearly intimidated. "Listen, I've been trying to keep your lover's quarrel with the Commander out of my reports, but if the two of you don't resolve it soon, and it keeps affecting your morale, I'm going to have to put it in."

"What?" Jeff splutters. "I'm not- she's not- Shepard's my superior officer!" Good job, Jeff, way to play it cool and throw her off the scent. Fucking Cerberus spy, having sex in his fucking chair. He jabs one of the blinking buttons hard enough to send pain burning up his finger, and he's really fucking excited to go deal with a hung-over Chakwas tomorrow.

"We're not lovers."

Kelly waves him off. "Whatever. What are the two of you fighting about, anyway?"

"We're not fighting." And could the relays to the Citadel be any more backlogged?

"Uh huh. So you did something stupid?" If Kelly had gum, Joker's pretty sure she'd be snapping it.

"No, really, please continue to distract me from flying."

"We're in queue for a relay jump," Kelly says. "So what'd you say? I'm a counselor, you know, I could help."

"What's the difference between a loan and a psychologist?" he asks.

Kelly leans her seat back, and if she knows the seats recline, Hawthorne has definitely been having sex in the cockpit (though really, what did Cerberus expect calling it a cockpit?) "Have you apologized?"

"Do I seem overflowing with the milk of human kindness? Go away."

"Wanna help me pick out lingerie? It's Thomas' birthday next week, and-"

"If you're attempting to out disgust me, I have seven zettabytes of well-worn holos willing to come to my aid."

"Fine." She pouts and rises from her seat. "Don't tell me. But apologize and make up. The ship can't handle the two of you at each other's throats." Joker thinks he's finally free of her when she stops and says, "Plus, everyone knows make-up sex is the best sex."

It takes him minutes to realize Chambers has left without any punishment for having sex in his damn chair.

"Fuck," Joker says. "EDI, send me the last week's footage from the bridge cameras."


	10. Fears

A/N: Possible trigger warning for anxiety in this chapter.

* * *

If Joker's legs are shaking as he enters the airlock of the SSV-Carentan, well, he has a fucking disease, and his legs are damned well allowed to shake.

This is his first assignment since-

He's not going to fuck it up.

Joker doesn't allow himself to think about the explosion. That last explosion that separated him from Shepard, the one that burnt across his exposed skin. The one that killed her. The one that left her to asphyxiate all alone.

He doesn't think about it at all.

Jeff certainly doesn't think about how the fuel lines beneath his feet would smell guttering black smoke into the air. Doesn't think about what it would feel like to have the art-grav stripped away and be left free to float around a damned grave yard.

He doesn't, even for a moment, consider how many Reaper missiles the walls of the Carentan could withstand before splintering into pieces. Doesn't feel the need to inspect the escape pods and make sure they'll fly.

He's fine, and he has a psych eval to prove it.

By the time Joker lowers himself into his seat at the helm, he's wringing wet with sweat. But it was a long walk, and he has a fucking disease.

The Carentan is nothing like the Normandy. Her bridge is cramped (where the Turians prize ease of movement, the Alliance prizes ease of finances) and the haptics are old, there's a dead spot in the lower left corner where the motion tracking doesn't work.

But she's nothing worse than he's flown before. Hell, most of the ships he flew in flight school were old junker transports, a couple still relied on the old joystick controls. And, truth be told, the rigid back of the pilot's chair, the smell of stale sweat, the too cool air, these are all familiar comforts.

It's just like getting back on a bicycle.

If the last bicycle you were on exploded underneath you.

The Carentan's co-pilot, Blackman, settles into the seat to his right. He's older than Joker, but with one of those baby faces, clean shaven. Blackman's wearing full BDU's, and Joker's uncomfortably aware that his navy ball cap is not quite regulation. He tugs it lower over his eyes.

It's not quite regulation for his co-pilot to be on deck during a routine uncoupling either. Joker's heard the whispers; half the crew thinks he's incompetent. And Blackman? Well he's of more than high enough rank to be piloting his own craft. No accident on the part of the brass, Blackman's a babysitter.

It'd be enough to rankle, but then the docking clamps raise, and suddenly Joker's flying his first craft in four months.

He second guesses himself on the first jostle of the antiquated controls, but Blackman doesn't seem to notice. It's good to be back. The ship flies like a brick and corners worse, but four hours later and the Carentan is so much putty in his hands.

They hit the relay wait and that's Joker's signal to sign the ship over to relief crew.

If his new XO weren't looking for a reason to issue disciplinary actions, he'd fight to stay at the helm, but as it is Joker contents himself with only a snide comment to Blackman. "Haven't killed anyone yet, who'd have thought, right?"

Blackman grunts.

But Joker? He's absolutely perfectly fine. Better than fine. Great. _He's flying_.

Joker hits his bunk in crew, seals the pod, and lies back, enjoying the flush of success.

Jeff's just closed his eyes when it hits. Bile rises in the back of his throat, and sweat begins to drip down the back of his neck.

He can't breathe.

The pod is closing in. He has to get out. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Why can't he fucking breathe? The glass overhead is a cage.

He can't breathe.

Where's the release lever? He tries to raise his hands, but his arms are too heavy.

There's not enough oxygen in the pod.

Panic attack. The label helps, sort of. He's having a panic attack. He can't breathe because his flight or fight response has been fucked over by reapers.

His muscles clench, chest feels tight.

He's going to die in this damned pod and no one is even going to notice. No one is going to care.

He's fine. _Fine._ Feels like he's suffocating, but fine.

The attack lasts only a few minutes, but to Joker it feels like hours before his hands unclench and the pressure in his chest eases. He feels shaky and weak.

Joker pulls the pod's release and sits up, gulping deep breaths of air.

No one asks if he's alright.

Just like getting back on a bike.

* * *

For all the upgrades Cerberus made to the Normandy, they could have put in a lap pool. Joker's damned good at swimming, but without access to a pool he's stuck trying to sneak in exercise while everyone else is in the mess or asleep.

He's not about to _walk_ on a treadmill in front of marines.

Joker supposes he could just let himself go to pot, now that he's free of the Alliance health regs, but Chakwas would have his head if he started skipping her carefully designed exercise program. She'd probably deny him the good drugs and everything. Certainly there would be some hellacious PT to pay.

So here he is drenched in sweat and shirtless halfway through breakfast when the door cycles open. He curses internally. Was ten more minutes really too much to ask? He bumps the machine up a few clicks, though the muscles in his legs are already screaming.

It's Shepard, of course it is, eyes focused on her omni. "Hey, Joker," she says without looking up. "Had Gardener set aside some slop for you. Was eggs, supposedly."

Joker grunts out something that might be taken for thanks. It's all he can manage at this speed. His hips are starting to cramp. If Shepard would just get on a machine already-

She looks up, and her eyes settle on his unclothed torso. Embarrassment creeps up the back of Joker's neck. He's aware, thanks, that he's not much to look at, between the surgery scarring and the general lack of Marine quality muscle. And Shepard, who's spent her whole life surrounded my men much more whole than him, well he gets why she's taken aback by his body, but does she have to fucking stare?

Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, her eyes still focused on his shoulders. Joker clears his throat, "See something you like, Commander?" It comes out as more of a pant than he'd like, but he accompanies it with a ribald grin.

Shepard flushes, embarrassed to be caught gawking (as she should be).

She moves to the machine beside him, dialing it up into a slow jog (why she ignores the ten other machines further down the wall, he doesn't know). But pride or not, Joker can't maintain the pace he's set for himself any longer, and he pulls the emergency stop. He hopes Shepard doesn't notice that he needs to hold himself up with his arms as the machine slows to a standstill.

"You leaving?" she asks.

All he can feel is the jelly of his legs and the burn of overstressed muscles. "Permission, ma'am?" he grates out. He can tell he's being unpleasant, but can't seem to stop.

Shepard sighs and drops from her treadmill. "Damn it, Jeff." The machine's belt whirrs idly behind her. "I don't even know why you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad."

"Yeah?" Shepard steps forward into his personal space, and he's suddenly hyper aware of the sweat cooling on his skin. He wonders if he smells. "Then you want to explain why you can't look me in the eye?"

Joker drags his gaze back to her. "I'm not mad." He drags his fingers through his hair, wishing desperately for his cap.

She waits, silent.

"I- shit, Shepard. I fucked up and I don't know-" He sighs. "I don't know how to make it up."

"What'd you do?"

He sucks in a breath. How can she even ask? Hell his legs hurt. The things he's done to her, the grudges she should hold, their unforgivable. "Okeer," he croaks at last.

Shepard blinks. Twice. "What?" A frown turns the corners of her lips (and she's right, he can't look her in the eye.)

He hears commotion just outside the door. Those not on first shift, and it's only moments before the training room is full of marines. Joker should have been gone a quarter of an hour ago. "I called you a monster, Shepard." He rubs his arms. It's suddenly freezing. "I'm sorry."

"Forgiven."

There might be more to say, but they're interrupted by the urgent beeping of their omnis. "Urgent vidcall for you with TIM," Joker says.

Shepard grimaces. "Mine too. See you later, Joker."

Joker watches her go, a smile tugging the corners of his lips. He turns off Shepard's machine and heads towards the cockpit. Sweaty or not, sounds like Shepard's about to need her best pilot.

Damn he loves flying.


	11. Things Change

A/N: This chapter begins the serious AU.

* * *

He's waited three weeks for this vidcall from Hackett, a privilege Joker knows he's only been granted because of his role in the battle of the Citadel. He's up halfway through his rest shift, which is alright, because he hadn't been able to sleep anyway. No pressure, just need to convince the Alliance brass of the Reaper threat, something no even Shepard had been able to do.

It's not going well.

"Sir," the honorific is more than the Admiral deserves, but Joker's trying not to earn another court-martial. "What Shepard found on Ilos-"

Hackett cuts him off. "The late Commander's records have been reviewed in their entirety, Lieutenant, and analyzed thoroughly by intelligence. It is the opinion of the Alliance at this time that no further measures are needed-"

"Bullshit, Admiral. There are Reapers coming-"

Hackett silences Joker with a glare. "Certain allowances have been made, Lieutenant Moreau, for your behavior in light of the loss of your crew and then your mother. You may not, however, consider that-"

Black dread twists in Joker's belly. "My mother?"

Hackett frowns, swipes at a screen outside the camera's scope. "My apologies, Lieutenant. I was under the impression that you had been informed by your CO. I see now that's not the case."

There's the hushed noises of an argument off camera, and then Hackett continues. "Lieutenant Moreau, I regret to inform you that three days ago the Alliance facility on Arcturus Station suffered an extreme safety failure. This resulted in the death of seventeen Marines and thirty contractors, including your mother."

* * *

"You can't be serious," Joker says, eyes never leaving the screens in front of him. "You're headed to a Collector attack without an immunity to the seeker swarms?" He jabs at the displays. "And who the hell knows what Mordin's countermeasure will do."

"Kaidan's there," Shepard replies. There's a tone of finality in her voice, an 'of course we're going to Kaidan' that makes Joker's stomach twist. He has no right to tell Shepard who she can risk her life for.

"I still think it's fucking stupid."

"Noted, Moreau." Shepard taps the brim of his cap playfully. "Mordin's solution will work. Page Garrus and Mordin to the shuttle bay, will you?"

She leaves as the Normandy enters orbit. There's a commotion in the CIC that turns Joker's head, and if he gets to watch her go, well.

He tries to gain ground contact on each of the Alliance's five major channels, but no one groundside is answering their hail, and as the shuttle enters atmo, comms with Shepard's team start to go haywire as well.

"...are...seeing..." Shepard's voice is garbled with static. The video fades in and out, but Joker can just make out the looming mass of ship just outside the colony. Looks just like the one that shot them out of the sky.

Garrus' voice comes through, "...damn..." and that seems to just about sum it up.

"EDI?" he asks. "You on this?"

"Attempting to circumvent communication interruption, Jeff. Technology is beyond that I have previously encountered." It's not possible for the computer to sound worried, obviously.

Joker pages on the ship-wide intercom. "Dropping into atmo, crew find reentry positions."

"Action not permitted by Cerberus protocols. Please remain in orbit," EDI says.

"If you think I'm going to let Shepard take on an entire ship without firepower-" Jeff tilts their nose towards Horizon's green surface. "Wouldn't your processing power be better spent circumventing the comm interference instead of arguing with me?"

EDI goes silent, which Joker takes as a win.

Reentry takes long, nail-biting minutes. It's too long before drop below the clouds and gain eyes again.

They come in far enough away from the Collector ship that Joker's fairly sure they haven't been spotted, though it was a Collector ship that found the Normandy flying silent. Hopefully whatever horrors are being perpetrated on the colony will prove enough distraction. Joker drops the Normandy as low as he dares and heads towards the planet's main settlement.

Colonies the world over have the same low, boxy architecture, and Horizon's main urban center is no different. If you don't consider that it's become a damn ghost-town. There's no movement of hovercars, no scurrying ant-sized people, no comm traffic.

No sign of Shepard and her crew, either, but without altitude to scan from, Joker doesn't hold much hope of finding them.

He drops the Normandy lower, and the bodies of colonists come into view on the aft cameras. Each lies perfectly still. Corpses. A chill runs down Joker's spine.

"Communication block temporarily overridden," EDI says.

"Normandy, do you copy?" Shepard's voice over the comms is static laced, but loud.

"Signal's weak, Commander, but we got you."

Garrus' helmet cam comes online. He's facing Shepard, so Joker can see the intactness of her armor. After fifteen minutes of radio silence, the sight makes him breathe a little easier.

"EDI, can you get the colony's defense towers online?" Shepard asks.

"Errors in the calibration software are easily rectified, but it will take time to bring the towers to full power."

"Commander, we're close. Permission to bring the Normandy's guns to bear?"

There's a spatter of gunfire off camera. "You not remember last time our ships went toe to toe?" Shepard's panting.

"Come on, Commander, you can't really think I'd let the same thing outfly me twice."

Shepard laughs. Gunfire. Garrus turns his head long enough for Joker to see the back of Mordin's helmet. "Alright. Don't break my ship, Moreau."

"Aye, aye." The Normandy surges beneath him. "All personnel, prepare for active combat." The haptics in front of him light up in a wash of colors as the Normandy's crew takes their posts. A desire for revenge floods Joker's veins, taking him by surprise.

They inch closer, staying as close and well hidden as they can manage. The far side of the colony is teaming with Collectors, and Jeff forces himself to not fire so as to maintain stealth. Shepard trusts him to keep his people safe, so he has to trust her to do the same.

"You have incoming on your flank," he says instead.

It's a massive ship that comes into view. It rises like a mountain out of the soil, casting a shadow that consumes nearly the entire city. The Javelin torpedoes are no use, not unless Jeff wants to risk destroying the entire settlement, which means getting close enough to use the GARDIAN lasers. Without, of course, being blown to pieces.

They're less than a mile from the Collector ship's hull. "Give 'em everything we got." The Normandy's crew is more than happy to oblige.

The cameras light up blue.

"Collector ship coming online," EDI says.

"Brace for evasive maneuvers." The words haven't left Joker's mouth before he pulls the Normandy into a modified barrel roll.

The golden ray of the Collector's particle beam skims by, haptics registering heat damage along the starboard wing. Jeff skims closer, and as the GUARDIANs fire again, he's pleased to see the Normandy's not the worst off in this dogfight.

The Collector ship is sluggish, half-manned as it is, and Joker pulls off a basic Immelmann unharassed, suddenly 300 feet higher and flying in the opposite direction. There's a curse from the CIC as the dampeners fail to fully compensate, listing the Normandy's gravity sideways. Joker, for his part, lets out a whoop of glee.

The Collector's particle beam is quick to catch up, though, and lands a glancing blow off the Normandy's underbelly.

"Kinetic barriers are down." EDI's voice comes in time with the emergency alert on the haptics, but Joker ignores them both.

The ship shudders as Joker pulls a split-S, but then they're back to the site of their original bombardment. Lasers fire. They breach the Collector hull.

"How do you like that, you sons of bitches?" Cheers sound from behind him.

But they've flown too close to the Collector vessel.

"Shit." Jeff can see the particle beam powering up, and knows that all the yaws, skids, and pitch-ups in the world won't be enough to make it miss.

He pulls hard right and down.

There's an explosion off the stern cameras, but no signal of distress from EDI or the Normandy.

"What the-"

"The defense tower is now online." Computers shouldn't be able to sound smug, for the record.

It's enough distraction that the Collector beam goes wide, and Jeff scuttles the ship to safety.

Another volley from the tower gives the Normandy space to turn and fire again.

The Collector ship ruptures. It breaks apart like dried honeycomb, the metal guts little more than vapor.

"Clear space, Normandy. Civilians on board." The Commander's voice, now free of static, pierces the absolute silence.

Joker settles the Normandy just south of town, and tries to remember how to breathe.

* * *

It's not like Joker wants to crawl atop the broken remains of the Collector vessel and take a picture. Exactly.

But the last four hours of waiting while Shepard clears and kills the remaining Collectors? Of watching as the Collector wreckage is pored over? Of finding no survivors at all? All that while coming off an adrenaline high has Joker climbing the walls.

He's ignored four calls from TIM, and for that reason alone is grateful Miranda's gone to help Shepard on the ground. Otherwise he might have to fucking answer.

He's definitely not playing Galaga to pass the time, and it definitely doesn't startle him when Shepard opens the comms.

"Joker, you copy?"

"I'm here, Commander."

"Nice flying," she says, grin audible in her voice, even under the exhaustion.

"_The best_," Joker answers, because he's an idiot who can't just say thank you.

The crew's head cams show Shepard and her ground squad, finally done excavating bodies, no more than specks amid the wreckage. Three Alliance dreadnaughts could land wingtip to wingtip within the body of the Collector ship and still have room to fuel.

Shepard stands helmet-free, lines of dirt decorating her face like war paint. The lines of her posture are colored with fatigue, but her eyes shine bright with victory.

"EDI says there's no more signs of life in this mess, you can sound the all-clear."

A man, one of the colonists, turns to face Shepard. His face is mottled with rage. "You killed them. Half the colony was in there! Ethan and Sam and Lilith! How could you fire on them?"

"I did what I could," Shepard says. "I'm sorry we lost those we did." It's not quite doubt that shadows her eyes, but something similar.

"It was the correct call, Shepard," Garrus says. The Turian is even filthier than Shepard.

"It was," a voice from behind agrees, and even before Shepard's camera swings his way, Joker knows who it is. Kaidan.

The colonist turns narrowed eyes towards Alenko. "All the good people we lost and you get left behind? Figures. Screw this, I'm done with you Alliance types."

"Shepard," Kaidan says, "it was good to see you again." He moves towards her like they might embrace, though they don't. "Unfortunately, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the colony, pending official Alliance investigation."

All the brightness fades from Shepard's face. "What?"

"Residents and Alliance personnel only, I'm afraid." They just shot down a Collector ship, and Kaidan fucking Alenko is really trying to convince Shepard that she needs to go?

"We need that information, Kaidan. We're bringing the fight to the Collectors, and we need all the recon we can get."

Kaidan frowns, and his eyes settle on the Cerberus crest decorating Shepard's chestplate. "So long as you're with Cerberus, my hands are tied."

"What does my affiliation-"

Kaidan cuts her off. "As far as the Alliance is concerned, Cerberus is a terrorist organization, likely responsible for the Collector attacks."

"A Cerberus ship just destroyed that Collector ship!" Shepard's gauntlets clench so tight Joker wonders if they'll cut marks into her hands.

"We both know what Cerberus is capable of!" Kaidan steps closer to the Commander. "You turned your back on everything we believed in. You betrayed the Alliance. You betrayed me."

"The Reapers-" Shepard begins.

"Cerberus is using the threat of a Reaper to manipulate you!"

It's not until that moment that Joker realizes that Kaidan has bought the Alliance party line wholesale. There are no Reapers; Shepard is either wrong or crazy.

"I could use someone like you on my crew, Kaidan. Just like old times. We're going to bring these bastards down."

"I'm a Marine, Shepard." Like that means something. Alenko's halfway back to the forbidden wreckage before he looks back. "Goodbye, Commander, and be careful."


	12. Things Stay the Same

Joker makes it home the day after his mother's funeral, and only then because he knows half the shuttle pilots in the Alliance.

Gunny meets him at the door, and her eyes are bright and brimming with tears. They cling to one another in the open doorway. Gunny muffles sobs into his chest, but Joker finds his own eyes curiously dry.

"Jeff." Dad's voice is rough, and he looks years older than the last time Joker was home. The lines around his eyes and mouth have been carved deep. Even his skin looks tired. They embrace, and Dad thumps his back, too hard.

"Sorry I- sorry I'm late."

"The Alliance didn't tell you?" Dad asks.

Joker shrugs. It seems the Alliance is keeping a lot of need to know from people these days.

The house feels empty. Which is stupid, since Mom was just as much a visitor to Tiptree as a resident. That was Joker's fault, of course, born with a condition that made her take a job relay jumps away. Jeff wonders what Mom would have been like as a farmer, as a colonist. He can't quite picture it.

They sit down to dinner, and Joker can't keep his eyes off the back door, waiting for Mom to come in from the garden, basket of flowers in hand. She'd always liked lilies, and Dad always planted some just for her.

Gunny, he thinks, is taking it the worst of all of them. She breaks into tears without any provocation, and doesn't eat, just moves the reheated food around her plate.

"You look like mom, you know?" Joker asks when Gunny's tears won't seem to stop. His little sister, still a kid, and now half-orphaned.

Gunny rubs at her eyes. It streaks her mascara, and when did Dad give permission for makeup? "Yeah?"

"He's right," Dad agrees. "Same smile." Gunny's lips curve, just a touch.

"And before she went gray, Mom had hair the same color as yours." His sister drags a hand through her hair.

"I never saw."

Dad pulls himself to his feet, cooling dinner all but forgotten. "She went gray early. There are some old datapads with pictures, let me find them."

The three of them huddle together on the living room couch to look at pictures of Mom. And it's not okay, and the ache in Jeff's chest is deep enough it'll never be covered, but together, it's just a little easier.

* * *

The shuttle comes in from Horizon, and Shepard hits the bridge before the docking protocols are complete. Her guns are even still strapped to her back, and Joker wonders whether Jacob or Miranda will be more upset about that breach of protocol.

"Plot course for Alchera."

Joker startles at her voice so close behind him. "Shep-"

"You can take that as an order, Lieutenant Moreau." There's stone in her voice.

Joker discards one, two, three real comments before he replies, ignoring the command entirely. "I was thinking of installing some lava lamps. Maybe Christmas lights for ambiance? What do you think?"

Shepard doesn't laugh, and for once Jeff's glad not to have his requested mirror in the cockpit. He's not sure he could handle the look on Shepard's face. Vrolik's has done away with most of Joker's more violent impulses, but he'd be willing to shatter every bone in his hand if it meant bloodying Alenko's nose.

"Alchera," Shepard says again.

There's a wormy guilt in his gut at the thought of Alchera. "You don't wanna take a shore leave first? I hear there's a new nightclub opening in the wards, we could go get shit-faced." Alenko has ridiculous hair. Too poncy for a woman of Shepard's caliber.

"Lieutentant-"

And honestly, the way he carries on about the difficulties of being a biotic. You'd think he wasn't able to move things with his damned mind. "Asari dancers, Commander. You remember Liath from Chora's Den? She's working there now."

The Commander drops into his co-pilot's seat, lets her head fall back against the leather headrest. "I'm your CO, Joker."

"Never let it bother me before."

"Right."

Shepard closes her eyes, mustering her strength, and Joker finds he doesn't want to be someone she has to force to follow her. He sighs. "Fine, fine, we'll head to Alchera." The name catches in his throat, just a bit. "But if you think you're going down there alone-"

"Deal," she says, and Joker tries not to startle at the win.

Shepard rests her head back, and within minutes, she's asleep beside him. It wouldn't be noticeable if not for the bio sensors in the armor she's still wearing reporting a drop in heart rate and brain activity. No tension drains from her body, she doesn't snore or mutter in her sleep. If EDI's to be believed, it's the first time she's hit REM in the last three days.

Joker dims the console lights.

He pings Garrus, and the Turian is willing enough to go groundside with Shepard, but that still leaves her shore-party one short. There's no way in hell she's going back to her grave with a Cerberus approved escort. Which eliminates everyone besides-

Though really, it's not as though Shepard will be facing hostiles. She doesn't exactly _need_ a third. Or maybe Chakwas? Cowardice tastes like bile in his mouth.

Crutches and ice do go so well together.

Shepard sleeps the whole three hours they're waiting to go through the relay, only startling awake when they slow on the other side of the jump.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Joker says once he's done congratulating himself on another bit of excellent flying.

Shepard snorts and rubs the heel of her hand against her eyes. "We there?"

" 'nother couple minutes."

She nods, and heads towards the docking bay.

If Shepard is surprised when he and Garrus meet her at the shuttle, she doesn't show it. "Leaving your baby, Joker?"

"Ensign Patel is currently at the helm, Commander Shepard," EDI says. "Analysis indicates that she will be adequate to the tasks of planetary orbit."

"Adequate," Joker agrees with a scowl. Shepard smiles.

The descent is... awful. The Kodiak, of course, is equipped with windows to let in the sight of ground rising up to meet them. He's well secured and the flight is gentle, and his eyes are fucking not tearing up.

He chides himself. He's here to support Shepard, not freak out like a damn child.

The debris must have been hot when they fell through Alchera's atmo, hot enough to melt the permanent layer of ice the Kodiak now lands on, hot enough to half bury themselves in frozen ground.

Garrus has weaponized Joker's crutches with tiny blades that give him better purchase in the ice, but he's still slips precariously. Shepard slides an arm around his waist.

"Sorry, Shep," he says. His throat feels tight. "Damn, I'm sorry." Whether she hears the catch in his throat, or if she just _knows_, Shepard doesn't think he's apologizing for slipping.

Joker's glad he can't see her face when she responds. "If it hadn't been you, Joker, it would have been Grenado or Crosby, maybe one of the Draven sisters, Tucks... Pressly." She doesn't say the rest aloud, but Joker can feel the whisper of their names, wonders if they'll find the dog tags they're after on the necks of corpses. "There's a reason a captain goes down with her ship."

Captain, a promotion the idiots at Alliance command didn't see fit to give her, even after she saved the galaxy. No, fucking Alenko, him they'll promote to Major, but the woman whose coattails he rode in? Let her rot. Didn't even recover her damn body. Not that he can be wholly sorry for that.

"Oh, captain, my captain," Joker begins in sing-song. Shepard rolls her eyes.

"Shut up, Moreau."

They find the first set of tags, Emerson's, wedged under a crate whose contents must have burnt up in atmo. Shepard hits her knees. The chain cinches tight around her fingers, and her lips move like she's praying.

Joker looks to Garrus, desperate for some clue as to what he's supposed to do. Garrus drops a hand to the Commander's shoulder.

It's fucking horrible. But they do their duty, and there's something honorable about finally gathering the remains of these marines. Someone should have done right by their families long before now. Of course it's Shepard who's bringing them home, who else would it be?

Shepard is digging the last set of tags, Pakti's, out of the ice when he sees it. The red stripe looks like fresh blood.

Joker's breath catches in his chest.

He can't tear his eyes away, not even when Shepard pulls her pistol. The safety clicks, and Shepard unloads an entire heat sink into the broken helmet. Only fragments remain.

"Let's head out," she says.

* * *

It's not his shift to fly, and they're headed back to Citadel space, so Joker absconds to the crew quarters for some much needed rest. He's not hiding. Sitting at the card table feeling sorry for himself, maybe, but not hiding.

Not hiding well, at least, since less than an hour passes before Shepard comes through the door. Fucking EDI probably ratted him out. He grabs at the datapad laying on the table, tries to look busy.

Shepard looks bright and fresh and beautiful.

Joker grunts out a greeting, not looking up from the open copy of... _First Contact: Who Needs It?_ And really, who the fuck is reading Riven on an interspecies mission to save the universe? He sighs. There's never a Fornax when you need one.

Shepard kicks his chair, and it spins to face her. "Alright," she says, "this one's on me." He doesn't look up, so she plucks the book from his hand. "We should have talked about this sooner."

Joker can feel dread pooling in his gut. She's going to ask for a new pilot. She's going to have him dismissed. She's going to-

"So you're the best damn pilot the Alliance has ever known?"

Shit. Does it sound that egotistical coming from his mouth? Does he care? It's true. "Fuck, yes," Joker answers. "Ma'am."

There's a grin crawling up Shepard's mouth. "I wondered how you fit your head through the airlock the first time you ever said as much to me."

"You have a point, Commander?"

"You weren't wrong. Your scores are the highest to ever come out of flight school. Both paper and practical. You took down a Reaper. You destroyed a Collector dreadnaught singlehandedly. So tell me, Jeff, if the best pilot to ever hit a relay couldn't escape that night, what standard are you holding yourself to?"

She doesn't understand. "I killed them. Me. It was my job, and-"

"No, you didn't. You're not the one who lead them to the edge of the Terminus systems on a wild goose chase. Not the one who the collectors called out by name." Well shit, _there's_ something they haven't talked about.

It doesn't matter, she's not at fault. "Shit, Shepard, you can't think- Everyone on the old Normandy knew exactly what they'd signed up for. We all knew the dangers-"

"You all accepted the risks of first contact with a species bent on our destruction?" Shepard takes the chair beside him. "So what you're saying is that one individual can't be held responsible for the deaths of those fighting the unknown enemy?"

His face burns. He swivels his chair back around, but he can still feel her eyes on him. "It's not the same."

Shepard doesn't respond, just props her feet up on the table. Inspects her nails.

"If I'd left when you gave the order-"

"Have I ever told you about Elysium?"

It's a rhetorical question, because Shepard has never told anyone about Elysium.

"The Batarians had locked down communications before we even knew they were there." Shepard closes her eyes and leans back in her chair. "It must have been the third day, and we were losing ground in the city's market center."

There's a pause Jeff doesn't dare interrupt.

"I called a retreat to a group of buildings we could barricade. Good tactical choice, excellent sight lines, functioning well, food supplies." Shepard taps her fingers against the table. "A couple of shop keepers refused, said they'd lose everything to the Batarians. Good men. Fathers. Worried about feeding their babies."

Maybe it's just the low lighting of crew, but the Commander looks young and unsure. "We retreated, left them to defend their stores as best they could. They died, of course." She sighs.

"What I'm trying to say, Jeff, is that I can leave someone behind when they disobey orders."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because your call? It was the right one."


	13. Truth Will Out

The bar is all the best kinds of seedy. Just busy enough that it doesn't feel empty, but without the crush of people that makes Joker feel like he's a minute away from a broken something. Good liquor, poured generously, and fish and chips which are both greasy and delicious. Shepard would've hated it. The music's no good for dancing.

It's hardly surprising she's on his mind, given what he's come here to do.

Joker spots the reporter the second she comes through the door, and damn if she isn't more lovely in person than in her holo.

"Margaret Kennsworth, from FCC News. Thank you for meeting with me." It's not Westerlund News by any stretch (Shepard did a fine job of burning that bridge while she was still alive), but the FCC at least has a reputation for fact based reporting. It's not the _Galactic Enquirer._ Like it or not, this woman is Joker's best chance at getting someone to listen to the Reaper threat.

She's also his best shot at being arrested for treason, but he's trying not to think about that.

"Jeff Moreau. Pleasure's mine." They shake hands across the table and Kennsworth settles in.

"May I record our conversation?"

Images of cell walls and reconstituted food flit through his mind. Though with any luck they'll just kill him. He shrugs. "Do your worst. Though make sure to call me anonymous, a man has to have some plausible deniability."

Kennsworth nods vigorously. "Of course, Mr. Moreau. Let me assure you I would never do anything to compromise the integrity of a source."

Oh fuck, he's got an earnest one. There is absolutely nothing worse than an earnest reporter. He edits his earlier descriptor of 'lovely' to 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed'.

Wide-eyed innocence might not a great look on her, but Joker's sad to watch it morph to horror as he tells her about the Reapers, about the sure and coming destruction of all organic life.

Kennsworth has worked her way through four drinks by the time he's finished, though Joker doubts it was intentional. He sips at his water, wishing it were something stronger.

"That's a- wow. That's one hell of a story, Mr. Moreau."

"I just told you giant space robots are coming to kill you and everyone you love, I think you can call me Jeff."

"Right, Jeff." She laughs nervously. "I don't suppose you have evidence to back this up?"

He swallows. What he's said already is enough to see him locked up, it will be this next bit that gets him killed. He pulls the OSD from his pocket and lays it on the table.

It contains the footage from Shepard's headcam on Ilos. It's not video he should have access to, and it's certainly not video he should be handing over to a civilian. "That's all I have, but it should be enough. If you can find him, the Turian Garrus Vakarian will be able to verify everything I've said. Used to work C-Sec, no idea where he is now."

"And Commander Alenko, the rest of the Alliance crew aboard the Normandy?"

"Alenko will feed you the party line, though you're welcome to try. Don't go pestering the rest of the crew, they won't know anything I don't and you'll just get them in trouble with the Brass." Joker downs the rest of his drink. "Any of the aliens you can track down, though, they'll tell you the truth."

He pays for Kennsworth's drinks from his omni and stands. "If you need anything else, you know where to find me."

In the end, he meets with Margaret five more times in the coming months. The article never goes to print, though. The footage never sees light of day, and whether that's because Kennsworth has decided he's crazy, or because the Alliance has squashed it, Joker can't begin to guess.

* * *

Shepard thinks that Anderson's assistant would have called security on her fifteen minutes ago if not for her uncanny resemblance to the weird composite image in the recruitment holo on the opposite wall. The man's eyes keep flickering between her nose and the thinner one of the holo until she wants to rip his head from his neck.

She'd consider doing just that if not for the waiting room full of supplicants come to beg a boon from their benevolent master. She sighs. Nothing like the machinations of bureaucracy to make a girl feel like torching the whole system.

"Listen." There's a fine line between cajoling and threatening, and a good chance Shepard's on the wrong side of it. "I'm not going anywhere until I speak to Anderson." Deep breaths, Shepard. In through the nose, out through the nose. It's not exactly working, but she can't afford the diplomatic incident that's brewing.

The assistant, to his credit, barely wavers. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but the Councilor-"

The doors behind him cycle open to reveal Anderson himself. "Alright, Shepard. Leave Marcus alone and come in."

A better person would resist the grin and wave Shepard gives Marcus as she sweeps past him. One of the perks of signing on with the terrorists, however, is that no one expects her to take the high road.

She drops the box of dog tags from Alchera onto Anderson's desk. It sits between them, an accusation.

Things have been tense between Shepard and Anderson since they last talked. Sure, she has her Spectre status back, but what good has that really done her? And now she finds out the Alliance is actively stymieing her work?

"Alenko and the other Marines on Horizon, they were back on their feet within thirty minutes of a Seeker attack. I want to know how." Anderson opens his mouth, but Shepard cuts him off. "I swear to God, Anderson, if you tell me it's classified-"

"While you're with Cerberus-"

Anger flushes her face. "Fuck that." Shepard's biotics pulse beneath her skin. "Damn it, Anderson. We shot down a fucking Collector ship! Which had fucking information that we fucking need. But your fucking-"

"Shepard." Anderson says her name in that tone of voice that makes her feel sixteen again. And who is he to say her name like that? He's not her fucking father.

Still, it will do no good to be dismissed as a child. Shepard sucks in a deep breath. Counts to ten. Twenty. "You know as well as I do that it will be my crew jumping the Omega relay," she says. "My crew risking their lives when no one else will. Cerberus colors or otherwise. I need to protect them."

"Putting you back in touch with the Alliance researchers who have that information means removing your KIA status. That makes you a deserter working for a known terrorist organization." The obvious ramifications are less daunting pressed against the suicide mission she's running.

"If I agree to turn myself in after a set amount of time, will the Brass let me have that research?"

"Shepard-"

"Give me any Alliance babysitter you want. All I'm asking for is an antidote that should be available anyway. People are dying, Anderson. By the hundreds of thousands."

"If you turn yourself in, there's no guarantee the Council won't charge you with capital crimes."

"I know."

Anderson paces away from her, towards the wide balcony, skycars streaming past. Shepard's never been much for artificial sunlight, but after Omega, the Citadel is strikingly beautiful. An Asari child splashes in one of the fountains below, and Shepard wishes they were close enough to hear her laughter.

Anderson's hands clench on the railing. Shepard thinks he'll refuse her, and truth be told she has no plan C.

"You'll need a liaison with the Alliance," he says. "There's a Marine, our first human test subject with the Seeker antidote. He's AWOL, somewhere on Omega. Name of James Vega."

"AWOL?" Shepard asks.

"He's a fan of yours, shouldn't give you trouble. Bring him on board, and you'll have your access to Alliance Collector research."

Shepard's not looking forward to minding some desertion-prone child, but it's more than she dared hope to recieve. "Thank you, Anderson. You don't know what this means."

The Councilor turns, face pressed into a grim line. "I know what it means. I just pray I'm wrong. I can't buy you more than four months, Shepard."

"Then I'll make them count." She wraps Anderson in a tight embrace before she goes.

* * *

Joker's not aware the Commander is in the bar until she throws herself into the seat beside him.

"You will not believe the day I've had," Shepard says as she steals the olive from his empty glass. If she notices the lipstick print on the glass' empty twin, she doesn't mention it.

He tries to interrupt, but she silences him with narrowed eyes and continues. "Anderson, obviously, but first, there's this freaking Volus-"

Maggie chooses that moment to reappear, two long stemmed glasses in hand. Shepard doesn't notice. "-for that stupid credit chip for- I kid you not- three hours, and when I finally found it..." Shepard's rant peters out as she finally notices the slender woman hovering at the edge of the table.

Joker's never seen the Commander flush quite this shade of red. "Oh." She stands, thighs jarring the table in her haste. "I'm interrupting something."

"Commander, this is Maggie- I mean, Margaret Kennsworth."

"Of FCC News," Maggie says. She sets down their drinks to shake Shepard's hand.

Shepard looks like she's kept her eyes open through a flash bang. "I was just going. Sorry for interrupting."

"Please, Commander Shepard, it's an honor, join us."

Shepard's eyes dart wildly. "I couldn't, really, but thank you." She's gone before Jeff can add his voice to Maggie's request.

Joker blinks.

"Well that was- she seemed more formidable in your stories," Maggie says as she settles across from him. "Are the two of you-" Her dictation program is still safely stowed away, but Joker can see the wheels turning in her reporter eyes.

"What? No!" He tugs the brim of his cap. "That's ridiculous."

"Mmmhmm." Maggie slides one of the glasses over to him, fingernails tapping against her own. "How long have the two of you not been seeing each other?"

"Really, Maggie, if your journalistic impulses are this far off, maybe I should take my Collector war updates to a more serious reporter."

She laughs and throws her hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I'll let it drop. Though who else you think you'd get to risk ruining her career running your crazy stories..."

"Please, with a face like this?"

"Mmm... I'll say."

Flirting with Maggie is like sliding into an old pair of boots, comfortable, even if it's not likely to take you very far. It's too bad, really, that he's her primary source for the biggest story of her life.

Maggie opens her dictation device, and Joker's omni buzzes with a notification that his conversation may be being recorded. He swipes the alert away. Maggie, of course, has ten million questions about the Collectors, the colonies, Shepard's plan.

The bar is nearly empty by the time they finish. Maggie sits back, stretching from the tips of her fingers to the ends of her long legs. "So the Commander's really alive, then?" she asks.

"Either that or a very convincing clone." He means it as a joke, but half out of his mouth he can tell it's going to fall flat. Maggie's face pales. "Kidding. Shepard's definitely back."

"How do you know?"

He drops his gaze to the water-rings which stain the table. How to explain that doesn't come off as two years wish fulfillment? At last he settle for, "You saw her." It's an imperfect answer, but he can't seem to find a better one.

Maggie's lips quirk in a lopsided smile as she closes the dictation program. "You should tell her, Jeff. I bet she'd like to know."

Joker pretends not to understand.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the wonderful reviews on the last chapter, I appreciate them so much. Also, I know the last few chapters have been fairly negative towards Kaidan, but that's mostly being colored by the POV being Joker's. More will be revealed about their relationship post Alchera, and Kaidan himself will be back at some point. He's by no means a character I hate (in fact he's one of my favorites), but I think the dynamic between Kaidan and Joker is fascinating, and something I wanted to explore.


	14. Vega

The connection crackles to life, fuzzy and out of focus, but then Gunny's staring back at him, and Joker feels something loosen in his chest.

"Jeff? Why are you so blurry?" The signal's piggybacking off a merchant vessel in near space. He could have used the Cerberus servers, but just because he's joined them doesn't mean he trusts them. And he's certainly not going to use the public communication's room. Not for this conversation.

"It's good to see you, Hil. How are you? How's Dad?"

It's hard to tell through the static, but it looks like Gunny's frowning. "Are you in trouble? Where are you?"

Joker tugs the brim of his cap. "I can't say. I'm fine, though, promise."

"There were men here today, looking for you. Dad won't tell me why, but I can tell he's really mad."

Of course Dad's mad he's gone AWOL. A better back-planet-patriot you couldn't find. Nothing's more important to Dad than the Alliance. Joker just hopes Dad's unaware exactly who he's joined up with now.

They probably won't speak again. Joker wonders if his name will be cleared after the war, or if his dad will hate him long after this Cerberus ship is shot down by Reapers. His eyes sting.

There's noise on the far side of the door, crew coming back from liberty. "Listen, I gotta go. I love you, Gunny. Tell Dad- tell Dad I love him too."

"Wait, Jeff-" Joker flips the comm closed.

* * *

Joker stumbles into the cockpit bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived.

Patel's managed to not wreck his ship on the trip to Omega, but Joker'll be damned if he's going to let anyone else sit at the helm while Shepard's groundside. That Bradly and Williams cut his rest shift in half with their damned fight (over soap? Joker thinks it was about soap) is irrelevant. He really needs to thank Shepard for his new position. Really.

Eyes at half mast, Joker nearly misses the new addition to his work station. There, just outside the edge of the haptics, is a small mirror. He can see the back of the cockpit reflected in its surface, completely smooth except for where _SR2_ has been engraved in one corner.

Joker grins.

There's a tiny note stuck to the top. It's the first time he's seen Shepard's handwriting, and it feels strangely intimate.

_Sorry I crashed your date. Saw this and thought of you. -S_

Shit, she thought that was a date?

"This personalization of your workspace falls within Cerberus protocols, Jeff," EDI says. "The Commander would like to know when you plan on getting your ass to work. Do you have a reply?"

With a snort, Joker dials up the mission preliminaries. Looks like Shepard is planning on taking the whole damn crew. Even Kasumi, their newest recruit is listed to go groundside. It wouldn't shock Joker if Shepard were planning an overthrow of Aria's whole damned station.

When he sees his name at the bottom of the list, however, he chokes in surprise.

"Thought you might sleep through this one." Shepard has the grace not to comment on his continued coughing, though he can see the mirth in her eyes reflected in his new gift.

"So here's the thing, Commander," he says when he catches his breath. "I'm not questioning your no doubt sane decision to take me groundside. But by any chance were you drinking heavily last night?"

"Mandatory morale booster."

He quirks an eyebrow.

"Okay, so I'm parading out the crew that's only nominally Cerberus in an attempt to court our Alliance contact. Also, I heard a couple of ensigns took to fists to settle how much sugar to put in their coffee?"

Right, now he remembers. "Creamer, actually."

Shepard laughs. Joker glares, but she doesn't have the decency to look chagrined."Sorry," Shepard says. "Totally not funny." He quirks an eyebrow, and she gives a little half-snort, but keeps it together. "I'm just saying, seems like the kids could use a break. You ready to head out?"

"Easier to come with you than bail you out later, I guess."

"That's the spirit."

* * *

Shepard has the best ideas. Getting shitfaced with the crew in the bottom of Afterlife is definitely one of them. Even if they are technically on a manhunt for some AWOL Alliance idiot. Aria's sure this Vega plays cards in the bottom of her club, but so far there's been no sign of him.

The Commander saunters back from crushing Garrus at darts, face flushed with victory, and damn if the sway of her hips mid victory dance isn't one of the sexiest things Joker's ever seen.

"Is it hot in here?" she asks, pulling at the thin fabric of her shirt. Yes. Definitely hot.

Shepard shakes her head at Mordin when he tries to lure her away to some Hanar game involving far too many rings and leans over her long body over the table. They're trying to blend in, which means her Cerberus uniform has been traded in for something far lower cut. "What are you drinking, Lieutenant?"

"Anything with an umbrella." And if she keeps at it like this, he's going to need more than one.

The crew is scattered across the different floors and rooms of Afterlife, though Joker imagines very few of them still remember who they're looking for. At any rate, he and Shepard are all but alone when she returns with a beer and some lurid pink concoction, complete with not one but _two_ umbrellas.

The first sip makes his head spin, but the second seems to settle it.

Shepard sits, but within minutes she's fidgeting in her chair, feet moving roughly in time to the music. Shepard, awful as she is, loves to dance. Joker wonders if he could dance now, with the Cerberus improvements.

Wonders at the risk/reward ratio of that particular endeavor.

Whether that question or the liquor loosens his tongue, it suddenly seems imperative that he ask Shepard about Horizon.

"Listen, Shepard. I know you and Kaidan-"

Yeah, so definitely the liquor. Note to self, don't let the iron-livered cyborg pick your drinks.

"Me and Kaidan what?" The Commander smirks, and Joker thinks he might have just stepped in something. Too late, though, really.

"You were close, I know." Joker tugs at the brim of his cap. "And, well, if you wanted to talk about it..." He is a fucking teenage girl. Awesome.

Shepard huffs a laugh. "We weren't dating." Takes a sip of her beer. "Or fucking." The Commander gets vulgar with alcohol. Vulgar and hot, not that he's paying attention.

"Right, no, wait, what?"

There's a gleam in her eye, and Joker's not sure if he should be terrified or delighted at being its cause. "Did you think we were?" Shepard takes a sip, a drop of beer spilling down her lip. Her tongue darts out to catch it.

Joker's face flushes. "Hell, everyone thought you were. What with the 'tell me more,' and the 'that must have been hard,' and the 'I didn't know you were a romantic, Kaidan!'" He flutters his eyelashes for good measure.

"What!" Shepard throws her hands up. "I get to know everybody. I'm friendly!"

"Nosy," Joker coughs under his breath.

Shepard smacks the brim of his cap. "Inquisitive. I ask all our crew about themselves."

"Yeah, but none of the rest of us called you beautiful and regaled you with stories of our childhood sweethearts."

"You're insane," Shepard says. "It was never like that with Kaidan. Besides, I don't sleep with subordinates." She peers down her nose at him in a spitting image of the old crone who narrates the Alliance sexual harassment vids.

Joker snorts. "You're kidding, right? We stole the damn Normandy, and now we work for a terrorist organization, but fraternization regs is where you draw the line?"

"I'm plenty willing to break regs to save the galaxy," Shepard replies as she swirls the beer in its glass container. "Or because they're stupid. But frat regs? Good. Idea."

The laughter's filtered from Shepard's voice, and Jeff feels suddenly uncomfortable. "I think as long as both parties are interested, no harm no foul."

"Back before Elysium, when I was just a little baby NCO," Shepard begins, and Joker sits up straighter. They're growing closer, he thinks, but it's still damned rare for her to talk about anything before Eden Prime. "I had this friend named Liz. Funny, crack shot."

All soldiers have these stories. Joker's spent enough years in Alliance blue to know by the tone of Shepard's voice that Liz isn't still among the living.

Shepard pauses just long enough to gesture towards the bartender for another round. "She fell in love with our CO, and he with her."

"Hell, Shepard, if you start on with some Fleet and Flotilla reenactment-"

She sighs, and Joker wishes he'd kept his mouth shut. "Long story short, Liz died and our CO put a slug through his brain."

"Shit."

"I was on the shooting range with him when he did it."

"Shit," Joker says again.

Shepard shrugs. "Frat regs are a good idea."

The somber mood leaves as quick as it came. Shepard drains her glass and starts on the next. She's dancing in her seat again. "Also, have you realized I don't have an office? If I started sleeping with crew, every time I invited someone to my quarters to talk they'd think I was trying to get in their pants." Her face pales. "No, they don't think that, do they?"

Joker remembers Kelly's shocked face when she returned from a private meeting with the Commander, virtue unsullied. "Of course not," he says. He won't be the one to shatter Shepard's illusion of professionalism aboard her ship.

But his grin must give him away. "Oh, hell," Shepard says. "Fucking hell." She swipes the drink from his hand and gulps it down. "But, but I invite _everyone_-"

Joker can't hold in his laughter. "None of us judge you, Commander."

"Ugh. I'm going to start meeting with people in the cockpit."

Joker splutters. "No. No. No." Not even Shepard can make that threat funny.

"Oh, come on. Think of the gossip you'd be privy to."

He lets out a low groan. "I am."

Shepard's answering laugh cuts off suddenly, her attention caught by something on the far side of the smoky lounge. She leans close, breath tickling his ear as she speaks. "There, on your seven. That look like our target?"

Shepard doesn't retreat back into her chair, so when he turns to look, her lips brush the shell of his ear.

There's a group of aliens, mostly Batarians, dealing out a round of what looks like Skyllian-Five but might be Camala's Fortune. There's one human among them. He's the size of a small bull.

"Looks like."

"Let's go," Shepard says.

Joker trails Shepard across the bar, dodging gyrating couples as they go. It's not until Shepard's shadow falls across the table that one of the Batarians glances up, four eyes narrowed in contempt. "Get lost, human."

That catches the human's attention, and it's Vega alright. His inebriation is obvious, eyes unfocused and never raising above Shepard's chest. "¿Puedo llevarte a tu casa?" He flicks his ante towards the pot. "Or maybe deal you in, Mamacita?"

Anderson's set them up with one of those assholes who turns their universal translator off and on for no reason. Wonderful.

Shepard smiles slowly, a grin only an idiot would take as interest. "Or how about I take you back to my place?" Vega smirks, and Shepard slides the datapad with Anderson's orders across the table. "But it's CO Shepard, not Mamacita."

The change is instantaneous. Rage mottles Vega's face and his fist comes down on the center of the datapad, cracking the screen into a web of black and blue.."Who the hell are you?" His chair clatters to the floor as Vega gains his feet. "This some sort of joke?" He steps towards Shepard, fists clenched.

A flick of her wrist sends him flying into the air. In any bar in Alliance space, that would be enough to have them bounced. In Omega it barely bats an eye. The Vorcha Vega was playing with pull their table to the side of the commotion and deal a new hand. Vega's stack of credits disappear.

"No joke, Vega. Can I put you down now, or are you going to start your time under my command with a drunk and disorderly?"

"Shepard is dead." Spittle flies, but the singularity keeps it contained.

"Not anymore." Shepard jabs a thumb in Joker's direction. "Recognize this one?" By the ever deepening shade of puce coloring Vega's face, Joker can tell he does. "Or that Turian, or maybe the Quarian he's standing with?" Shepard points across the bar and drops the biotic field. Vega crumples to his knees.

"0700, dock C37, don't be late." One step towards the door. "Oh, and Vega? If I have to come find you again, I can guarantee it will be far more painful for you."


End file.
